


Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)

by Itar94



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack, Dragons, Humor, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Unicorns, Various crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 130,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A list which everyone in Camelot should be aware of, in which Arthur is a prat/possessive and Merlin is stubborn/too endearing for his own good.</p><p>(Complete.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Collect Cute Baby Animals and Take Them Back to Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** I first posted this on FF.net in 2011. This fic is completed but has no had a beta-readers, so any mistakes are mine entirely. Beginning as a series of one-shots this story grew and grew almost completely out of control; they are very random and nothing ties them together except Merthur._   
>  __  
>  **Please note as you read that the chapters are not in any particular order! They do NOT follow upon one another (unless stated otherwise), so events may be entirely random. Extremely random, even. In one chapter Arthur may know of Merlin's magic only to not know in the next, and characters from various seasons also may appear at random moments at times they probably shouldn't be there. So there's no fixed timeline. Think of this more as several one-shots or vignettes bunched together. Now, enjoy please!**   
> 

Sometimes, Arthur thinks, Merlin is really, truly annoying. His selfless kind heart and too-endearing personality aside, the servant can sometimes drive the prince to the edge of insanity. With worry – very often. With love – all the time (but if the word spreads about  _that_  Arthur might have somebody put in the stocks for years or decades, and only Morgana can wriggle them out of him, only because she takes sadistic pleasure in seeing his pained humiliated face as he confesses it). With exasperation – more times than he can keep count of. So in short, Merlin might shorten the prince's lifespan by several years because of all the trouble he attracts with his stupid wonderful smile and stupid cute ears and his blue eyes that always catch sight of unnecessary cute things that Camelot (or Arthur, or Merlin) have no need for.

It's happened before; he's seen this look on Merlin's face many times enough to recognize it. As soon as the servant appears, bouncing on his heels, Arthur groans.

"No."

"But, I haven't said anything," Merlin says, confused.

"Still, the answer is no."

"But why!" Merlin cries with a pout (even if he denies it's a pout), holding out his arms like Arthur can't see what he's holding there. "Can't we keep him?"

The 'we' is a temptation, but Arthur ignores it.

It's happened before; there was the dog (Merlin really should stop bringing statues to life), the cat, the rat, the bunny and the horse (two of them actually). There might have been a couple of magical creatures involved too, like the unicorn, which is why Uther walks around frowning so much nowadays and why Arthur might have a heart-attack, and there's the occasional peasant claiming they want to be a knight (but for some reason Arthur never really believes them, with Merlin practically clinging to their arm). Oh, there've been a lot. The dog is still around somewhere and the horse, well, it wasn't so bad though it had some temper. But, a man has his limits, and honestly,  _why_  must Merlin pick up and take home every cute, lonely thing he finds? What was the bloody urge coming from?

"Where on earth would you keep it?" Arthur asks with a snort. "The stables?"

"Uhm…I don't know," Merlin says uncertainly. "But look at him! He's so tiny and sweet, he can't do any harm! When I saw him lying in the forest I couldn't just leave him there! Look, his wing's been hurt, so I borrowed some stuff from Gaius and bandaged it. Poor thing, he practically cried whenever I left his side. Please let me keep him!"

"Merlin," the prince says seriously and Merlin looks at him expectantly, probably jumping with hope and excitement inside. "It's a dragon."

"So?"

"It's a  _dragon_."

"It's just a baby!" Merlin turns to the small scaly thing in his arms, patting its head, and Arthur avoids looking at them both, just rolling his eyes feigning annoyance, refusing to admit that the thing really is a bit cute and he loves seeing Merlin's eyes shine, his smile, oh his wonderful smile when Arthur lets him keep his stupid pets. "Don't worry, Cal, he's just being a prat, but you can stay with me, promise," Merlin says to the dragon, cooing, and it looks like it smiles and purrs, cuddling into the young man's arms, golden eyes fluttering like it's going to fall asleep. "I know! I'll take you to meet Kilgarrah, he can be sort of like your daddy! It's going to be great."

Arthur glares at them both.

Really, it should be a law against Merlin looking so endearing. Stupid, he means to say stupid. Annoying. Because it's what Merlin is. Stupid and annoying.

"See? Cal's completely harmless," the servant says smiling at him.

"You named the beast?" Arthur asks, incredulous. "You named a bloody baby  _dragon_? It's a stupid name, you know."

Merlin frowns and makes a displeased sound, the creature sensing his distress and glowering at the prince with a small growl. "I want to keep him!"

And though Arthur is truly, really annoyed with his manservant's childish behavior, seeing him unhappy makes Arthur unhappy, and something in his chest twinges at the thought of seeing Merlin's face covered with displeasure or anger or sadness, and though he dislikes admitting it, the dragon isn't that bad. It's not put fire to anything…yet.

He sighs.

It's unfair: Merlin  _knows_  he can't resist that pitiful look.

"Fine," Arthur mutters and looks away, and Merlin grins, beaming like a ray of sunshine, cuddling Cal to his chest. He chooses to ignore it when Arthur hurriedly adds; "But only until we find some better place for him!"


	2. Spend Time Alone (and preferably not in any other manner either) With Gwaine

The morning is bright and Merlin's late. It's not unusual. In fact, if Merlin is early or too meek or quiet or submissive – all in all acting as a servant  _should_  – Arthur knows that something is very, very wrong.

So he isn't directly concerned when Merlin stumbles inside without knocking, threw open the curtains with a "Morning lazy daisy!" (Could he never come up with anything new?) – Arthur mutters something into his pillow and slowly makes it out of bed, as the servant goes about settling breakfast on the table, humming quietly. Hm, Arthur usually doesn't hear Merlin hum silly little melodies unless the servant thinks he's alone, and whenever the prince makes his presence known, the servant stops and mumbles in embarrassment, suddenly busy with something else. Now however, he won't shut up, and won't stop smiling.

Not that it's a bad smile, but it's …  _distracting_.

So is that stupid flush on Merlin's cheeks.

"Aren't you in a jolly mood today, Merlin," Arthur remarks raising an eyebrow as he takes seat by the table.

"What? Hm. Yeah." Merlin crosses the room and starts searching the wardrobe for the prince's wear.

"Has anything special happened that I should know about?"

"Not really…"

"Really now," Arthur says not very impressed, his expression falling, darkening and there's an edge to his tone as he continues: "Nothing to do with Gwaine then and your chit-chatting during training yesterday, then?"

The boy glances at him. "Err…Well, he invited me to dinner last night, and then took me to the tavern…it was nice."

For a moment Arthur is torn between throwing a pillow at him, snort in amusement or march out and turn that grinning, hair-flashing  _knight_  into a cowering pile of—

Okay, he shouldn't think evil things when Merlin's looking at him like that, worriedly and innocently. Though it can hardly count as evil, can it. It's just – he's defending Merlin's virtue, that's all, from grabby knights. If the boy had  _any idea_  of the things running through the men's heads …

Arthur grabs the nearest object, a goblet, clenching it hard to fight the urge to march out of his chambers and hit the flirtatious stupid knight in the face. Didn't the man know his place? Doesn't the man know not to touch what isn't his?

"Gwaine made you dinner?"

"Yeah, though I don't think he cooked it," Merlin says with a chuckle, oblivious to the prince's inner struggle. "He probably pilfered it from the kitchens."

The rest of the morning, Merlin goes about his duties still humming and Arthur is abnormally brisk and Merlin probably doesn't get why the prince's replies are suddenly so short and without banter. However, he's unfocused (which makes Arthur's behavior worse but Merlin is too  _distracted_  to notice) and he keeps  _smiling_.

Arthur seethes. That smile is his, damn it! Whenever Merlin smiles like that it should be for him and not some dim-witted, coy, boyish knight who flashes his hair and white teeth at anything on two legs. Before the man had at least had some decency and kept to unclaimed skirt-wearing ones (although, Merlin isn't really claimed, physically or emotionally – but Arthur's logic doesn't really follow that. Merlin is  _his_. Not that dillydallying knights'.

"I had a great night," Merlin keeps talking about his Wonderful Dinner And Outing With Handsome Sir Gwaine; "He's so nice and has a great sense of humour and ..."

At which Arthur grunts and replies, not-being-but-trying-to-sound-nonchalant, "After you've cleaned my room, you'll polish my armour and muck out my stables."

"But I did that yesterday!"

"Yeah. I'm sure they've gathered lots of dirt and dust overnight, as does everything in this infernal castle."

Merlin amazingly enough obeys (not excluding calling the prince a clotpole though.  _What the hell is a clotpole anyway?_  Arthur wonders, shaking his head. Merlin is such an oddball.) He does his work sulklingly slow, though, and doesn't care if he misses a spot on the already shining armour. He really had cleaned it yesterday, for some strange reason since Arthur hasn't used it for three days and Merlin always cleans it directly after training. Some part of him thinks Arthur is just giving him lots of chores to annoy him. He's not exactly got a job with weekends and holidays. When has the prat ever given him a day off?

Which reminds of him of Gwaine. Last night at the tavern had been really nice, it had almost been like a day off: no work, no chores, not even from Gaius. He could just relax without complaints, without demands. Gwaine had shared stories and made him laugh and Merlin idly wondered if Arthur knew that Gwaine calls him a princess behind his back. Arthur being called that, that is, not Merlin. The look on Arthur's face would've be hilarious. The thought of Gwaine makes him smile a bit, despite he's determined to sulk; the man promised they'd see each other later, maybe toda the man will drop by to say hello; that'd be nice. At least  _he_  doesn't go around acting like a prat because he's too high and mighty to show that he cares…

"Stop smiling like that. It annoys me."

Merlin is so startled he drops the pitchfork.

"Wha—Arthur! What are you doing here? Are you watching me work? That's a bit creepy, you know. And why are you holding a sword?"

Arthur pretends he's seen a rat or something other interesting thing in the hay which he proceeds to chase down. He can't exactly say he's safeguarding the royal stables from one the city's knights.

()()()

**...Or Any of the Knights either**

()()()

"Merlin, stop sighing like some lovesick milkmaid and get back to work."

"I'm not…Hey! I'm working. Look: bucket, cloth. Work." Merlin holds up the items, then gestures at the wet floor and glares at the prince. "And I'm  _not_  lovesick," he adds, eyes narrowing. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Sure not. You're only going on about 'Gwaine that, Gwaine this' or 'Percival is so nice to me' or 'Have you seen Gareth's new sword technique?' and staring toward the window forlornly every five minutes. What are you waiting for - for them to arrive with flowers?" Arthur says rather mockingly, raising his voice a pitch while imitating opening a door. "'Oh, hello Merlin, do you want to share dinner with me? Here, I picked you some lilies, don't worry if they're a little mushed after I sat on them'. And you'd be blushing like some stupid smitten maiden."

Some say jealousy is the truest kind of love. But Arthur isn't doing this in attempt to make Merlin stop longing for someone and sigh because he's jealous. No, Arthur's doing it because it's bothersome, he's not paying his servant to day-dream. No, really.

Honestly.

Merlin frowns. "That was  _nothing_  like Gwaine."

"How did you know I was imitating Gwaine?" Arthur demands furiously.

"You did that hair-flicker thing, you know that doesn't work, you haven't got hair like him. Not that your hair isn't nice, it's very beautiful, but it's not longish like Gwaine's."

"So I've got nice beautiful hair, do I Merlin?" Arthur asks, drawling in that special tone which he knows affects anyone, slowly looking over the servant. "Something else you like about me,  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin's a girl really so it's not surprising when the servant suddenly blushes, red spreading over his cheekbones and all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"N-not like that!"

Arthur leans forward, in an almost dangerous possessive way, and reaches out to touch the neckerchief. Today it's red. Red is a good colour: it's Camelot's colour, therefore his, and something in his chest warms up (almost like pride) when seeing Merlin in  _his_  colour. "You sure, Merlin? It didn't sound like any other way."

The boy looks mortified or flattered, it's hard to tell which, Merlin keeps avoiding looking him in the eye, and stutters something about 'getting more water', scrambling to his feet and hurrying out of the door. Arthur stares after him rather accomplished.

That'll keep the boy's thoughts off Gwaine. For awhile. Long enough at least for the prince to seek out his loyal men for a small  _chat_.


	3. Let Uther Find Out About His Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This one has spoilers for 4x03: The Wicked Day, but it's naturally AU as in Merlin succeeding to heal Uther. A slightly more serious chapter than the rest._

" _You idiot!_  Why did you do that? How could you be so  _careless_?" Arthur shouts, shaking his shoulders violently, his grip firm and strong and his heart beats furiously against his ribcage. For those few seconds, he'd been so scared. Afraid. A Pendragon never admits feeling fear, but Arthur has never felt such a rush of emotion before, running through his veins making his blood cold. Merlin, his Merlin, his idiot, he could've bloody  _died_  and the  _idiot_  just looks at him, wide-eyed, but calm words returned to Arthur's memory that moment – _"I'm happy to be your servant until I die"_  – but it wasn't time for Merlin to die. It isn't. Not yet. Not ever, if Arthur has any say in it.

"You fool! What if he'd awoken? What if—"

"Arthur," Merlin whispers, and he sounds almost heartbroken, "I…I'm sorry."

"He'd have you burned! Are you stupid? Doing magic right in front of the king himself? What if he'd found out?"

Merlin's breath hitches when Arthur says that forbidden word. "I…You…You're not…You're not mad at me?" he asks carefully.

" _Mad_? Of course I am! You could've gotten yourself killed!"

Something lights in Merlin's eyes and there's relief. Because Arthur has finally admitted it: _I know of your magic and I don't care you have magic_. Even if Arthur doubtlessly is angry. "I had to heal him, Arthur," the warlock says quietly and looks him in the eye. "He's your father. I knew what was wrong and I could do something about it – I don't care about the consequences if I can save a life. If it'd been you or Gwen or Gaius, would you've wanted me to hesitate just because I don't want to reveal myself? If they live, it's worth it."

The words (almost words of  _wisdom_ ) sound both familiar and welcoming and strange from Merlin's mouth. He's so young, yet he's been through so much and seen and felt pain he shouldn't have, he carries this great burden that Arthur has just began to unravel – yet, he still willingly throws himself at danger to save a single man, to save Arthur or even Uther, the killer of his kind. How could one heart be so pure and good? How could Arthur deserve to have Merlin by his side when the idiot is so caring and loyal and selfless?

It takes awhile for him to calm down and breathe and he can't let go of Merlin's shoulders.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks quietly. "Are you all right?"

"…Yeah." He takes a shaky breath. Nods. When he looks up he manages to smile. "Just. Don't do that again. You need to be careful, Merlin." He almost says, 'You scared the life out of me.'

"You're not sending me away?" Merlin asks, incredulous. "I thought this would involve a lot more shouting and tears and—" Arthur puts a finger to his lips and he silences.

"I've known for weeks. You're not exactly subtle all the time. I mean – all those falling branches whenever we're attacked by bandits? The oh-so-fortunate death of creatures of magic that can't be injured by ordinary swords or spears? People getting miraculously cured from grave diseases? You couldn't handle a sword if your life depended on it and you've escaped battle unscathed and unarmed."

A lump forms in Arthur's throat and he starts to flicker his eyes because he's never been good at this kind of thing, especially now when Merlin stares at him in earnest with hope glinting in his eyes and – is the idiot going to cry, Arthur might hit him, if Merlin starts to cry tears of joy like the girl he is then Arthur is never going to get to the point. "It's more than just luck. But, you've saved my life. I'm not…I'm not so ignorant to believe that magic is just a weapon used for evil. You're magic, and you're the kindest, gentlest soul I have ever known. There isn't an inch of evil in you, that I am sure of. I'm not sending you away, Merlin. I can't...I can't bear the thought of sending you away."

Merlin is rendered speechless. "Arthur," he says seriously after a while, considering the words and taking them to heart; he appears to be glowing from inside. "You haven't been at the cider have you?"

"Only you would get drunk on cider."

Merlin's voice is a little shaky. "You know what I mean."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Merlin," he says, so sincere he hasn't been in his life and for the past hour he hasn't said a single false word. It feels good. It should be like this between them forever – well, with less of Merlin's shining eyes because something in Arthur's chest twinges when tears are welling up in his warlock's eyes.

The warlock looks up at him with a wide smile.

Breath puffs out of Arthur's lungs when Merlin suddenly hugs him, scrawny arms wrapping around his torso. They've never done that before, and it's kind of nice, the boy's frame pressed against his own, it kinds of  _fits_  there like they're two halves of a whole. Arthur puts his arms around him, the shoulders and the back is thin but the body warm under his hands. No, it's not that bad, though unexpected and a bit awkward. He rolls his eyes when he hears Merlin sniffle into his neck.

"You're such a girl, Merlin."


	4. Deliver Dresses For Morgana or Gwen

It's not his fault. Honestly!

But the prat doesn't believe him. He's not likely to. Or even if he does believe him, he chooses to act like he doesn't, just to have a laugh.

"It's for Morgana!" Merlin says for the umpteenth time. "I'm delivering it from Gwen to her, she's just finished tailoring it - I swear!"

"I've always known you're a girl,  _Me_ rlin. It's not the first time this happens, I mean, and no, I don't believe it's for Gaius this time. No need to feel ashamed. Go on," Arthur says with a quirky grin and gestures at the dressing screen.

Advice: never deliver any piece of female clothing through a castle that has a prat prince, even for your best female friend.

On second thought, lets correct that. Never deliever any piece of clothing anywhere (if you aren't female), for any good friend. It'll just get you into strange, awkward situations and won't let you go.

"Arthur," Merlin whines, "this is  _ridiculous_."

The prince simply chuckles, puts a hand on the servant's back and pushes him behind the thin mobile wall and Merlin resigns to the inevitable fate with a sigh.

In the end, it appears it isn't ridiculous that much because when Merlin (twelve minutes and at least a hundred lacings later) steps back into the candlelight, Arthur just stares at him with wide eyes and jaw dropped and Merlin admits that the cold silky material brushing against his skin isn't that bad, not is being looked at like that…bad. It's rather ... uhm ... It's rather nice.

"I—I should probably. You know."

His face and his skin feels like it's on fire and some other parts of his body does too and can he go now before he melts into a puddle of goo because Arthur is looking at him like that?

Merlin makes a feeble pathetic gesture toward the dressing screen.

Arthur continues to stare and his voice is slightly high-pitched as he regains control of it.

"It's not…it's not unflattering, Merlin. It isn't."

The warlock makes a nervous little laugh. "For once I get complimented but only when wearing Morgana's dress."

"It's really Morgana's dress?" Arthur asks, looking him up and down and biting his lip and Merlin's pulse speeds up a little; Arthur can't really be looking at him that way, can he? Oh god, he is, he is, and oh god, Gwen and Morgana are going to kill him if he ruins the dress.

The prince slowly stands up from where he's been sitting on his finely carved wooden chair, takes three steps forward and lets a hand glide over the hem of the dress. The material is smooth, as is Merlin's skin, though the latter is warm and glowing in the candlelight and he suddenly has a strong urge to slowly reveal that smooth skin, look at it, maybe taste it.

"I better talk to her, then. About having to order another one...for her."

 _What?_ Merlin wonders, startled, and then _, Oh_ , as Arthur leans in, wraps his arms around the warlock and proceed to kiss him until either of them passes out.

()()()

 _How strange_ , Gwen thinks that evening as she sorts through her mistress' wardrobe. _I can't seem to find that red and golden dress anywhere...but I'm sure I asked Merlin to deliver it..._


	5. Act As the Visiting Dignitaries' Manservant

Arthur has never found reason to dislike Prince Richard, the oldest son of the neighbouring King Lot. All right, yes - he admit that he's found a few reasons, like how the man is so incredibly polite that even bootlickers feels disturbed by it. He's also a good sword-fighter, good enough to rival even Camelot's lead fighter, knight and champion (which is Arthur, of course) which isn't pleasant for said champion. And king Uther is disturbingly fond of the foreign royal, always offering him to stay a bit longer - Arthur has a feeling Uther is trying to woo the bordering kingdom into a firm alliance through its prince.

So, yes, all right, he doesn't take particular liking to Prince Richard. The feeling is mutual so the simplest is for the two too simply avoid one another during the yearly visits to either kingdom.

But Arthur is a prince and shouldn't be bothered by such trifling things like who is the best at swordplay. An alliance with a powerful kingdom is more important than the fact that its prince is infuriating and aggravating and sickeningly polite (and Arthur still hasn't forgiven him for that duel two years ago).

So he takes a deep breath and reins his emotions, putting in a pleasant mask as he greets the prince. The prince replies good-manneredly, stretching out a hand and Arthur reluctantly takes it.

The mask however cracks when his father offers  _Merlin_  to serve the visiting prince during his stay. And prince Richard looks over at Merlin, who's just stands there smiling nervously (Arthur wants to call him an idiot for doing that) and nods and says, "Thank you, sire, it's an honour." and Arthur has a well-justified urge to  _kindly_  tell the man to go and get his own damned manservant because Merlin is  _his._

Unfortunately, King Uther is still present, so Arthur cannot say that. Out loud. In his head it's another matter. He proceeds to glare daggers at the other prince.

Merlin, the idiot, doesn't seem bothered when he's practically given away like a fine vase or piece of furniture. When he  _should_  be bothered. Arthur wants him to be angry and annoyed and complain, to walk up to him with certain steps and say that he doesn't want to work for the visiting prince. Instead, the servant just nods dutifully, and the king (" _Father,_  w _hat are you_ _ **doing?"**_  Arthur internally shouts) sends him off with prince Richard's luggage. The prince sees that the servant is struggling so he walks up and offers his help with a voice coated in honey and Merlin grins and says, "It's OK, I got it" but the prince insists and they end up walking side by side up into the castle, and the King watches it all completely unfazed.

 _Damn that fck &ch$#!,_ Arthur chants in his mind, glaring daggers at the other prince's back. (Among some other less kind, unsavory things as well.)

()()()

One week passes by like this:

Prince Richard is quite pleased with his temporary manservant. He might sometimes stumble, say the wrong kind of things - being far too honest than what most nobles would prefer - and come to work late in the mornings. But he does his duties without question, and with quality, and the prince finds he's very easy to talk to.

It's not difficult to share one's thoughts and it doesn't take long for prince Richard to understand how much Merlin likes to talk. Particularly about one certain topic, dreamy-eyed and smiling, and blushing when the prince remarks on it. Richard takes it all in a stride and finds it very easy to like the servant, be friendly with him and help him carry things through the castle. The two are seen often together, laughing as they go, and once, they walk past the royal chamber wing, Richard with a hand on Merlin's arm, and if King Uther hadn't timely passed by Arthur would have ignored all formalities and smashed the other prince's nose in.

Prince Arthur's temporary manservant is always on time, the meals are set up on the table like a picture every time and there's wine to breakfast, there's not a single spot of dirt on his armour or in his chambers and there's no unnecessary talk when the servant dresses him. In fact, there's no talk at all except when Arthur gives orders and the servant replies "Yes, sire." It would not be a surprise if it was the man's whole vocabulary: 'Yes, sire, no, sire, I'm not sure, sire, right away, sire.'

It's a perfect servant and he drives Arthur mad. He's not used to it that way, and he later realizes he  _doesn't want it_  that way. He wants to talk and banter and a reason to laugh; he wants to be corrected when he's arrogant or wrong, wants to be called a prat when he is one; wants the room to be a bit messy because Merlin knows exactly where he wants his stuff. With the new servant he can't find anything, it's all in the wrong places, all sorted and orderly.

In short, Arthur's going through hell and every time he meets Merlin, the servant keeps telling him how wonderful prince Richard is, how nice and kind and fair and awesome he is and _he hasn't called Arthur a prat/clotpole/dollophead_   _in_ _ **a whole week.**_

Finally, Arthur's had enough.

For some reason, prince Richard doesn't look surprised when the gauntlet lands before his feet. He picks it up without hesitation.

"I'll see you in the arena, prince Arthur."

()()()

Uther isn't very pleased, of course. "What's this about?" he demands to know when Arthur announces he is to duel with prince Richard the following morning.

Arthur doesn't give a straight clear answer. He can't exactly say that the other prince is making claim on  _his_  property. So he settles for the not-really-a-lie about the other prince "insulting his person and his honour". It's not a reason for a fight, Uther berates him, but Arthur tell him anything more, and nothing can stop the fight since the other prince has accepted the challenge; it's irrevocable.

"If you lose..." Uther begins warningly, lifting a finger, once he's accepted that Arthur's going to fight like a boy in a brawl. It's strange that the king warns him like that; he should be displeased altogether. Although, he might be thinking of how Camelot's, and therefore his own, pride will be insulted if Arthur loses.

"I do not have the intention to."

()()()

The morning arrives crisp and bright, and Merlin is rather confused about it all as he helps Arthur into his armour: the prince won't have it done by anyone else. "I don't get it," the servant says, almost whining, "Richard hasn't done anything. Was it something he said? It's something like that, isn't it. Or you got into a silly fight and called each other names and now you both got to fight to regain your honour. That's it, isn't it?"

"Of course not."

"Then why are you doing this? Arthur, it's not a good idea. What if you get hurt or-"

" _Mer_ lin."

The boy rolls his eyes and by the gods, Arthur's missed this. "Shut up?"

"Yes. A  _brilliant_  guess. You've just been upgraded from from idiot to dummy, congratulations."

Merlin makes a displeased noise, wrinkling up his nose. "Something's wrong. You haven't been this snappy for months. Seriously, Arthur-" He's saying his name, not calling him sire or my lord, it's an immense relief to hear. "-You shouldn't do this. It's a bad idea. Prince Richard is pretty handy with the sword, I've seen him train. What if you get injured?"

"Merlin, just shut up and hand me my sword."

The servant mumbles something on his breath, turns around and presents the weapon to the prince. After a moment's pause, before Arthur can leave the tent for the arena, Merlin stops him, chewing his bottom lip. He looks strangely nervous, apprehensive, worried. The sight kind of warms Arthur's heart a bit. "...Be careful, all right?"

The prince nods jerkily, tearing his eyes away from Merlin's face.

"Yeah. Of course."

()()()

A surprising lot of people have heard of the event and gathered to watch. They fill the sidelines, a hundred unimportant faces and clapping hands. Arthur is entirely focused on the man in armour in front of him. Before they begin, Richard speaks above the sound of the excited crowd.

"Remember our deal. The winner gets the prize, unhindered."

Arthur growls from deep in his throat. He's going to win this. Over his dead body will he let prince Richard walk away from this arena victorious.

The king raises his hand, the champions get battle ready; the arm lowers as a signal to begin and their swords clang together.

Merlin has always been quite impressed by Arthur's skills, but also thinks the man is an incredible show-off. Usually, he fights with full grace and control and has an air of calmness about him. Today, he's full of unrestrained energy and though he's graceful, there's an unusual brutality to his movements, like he wants to chop his opponent to little pieces. Even if prince Richard is also a very good fighter, better than many of the knights that Merlin's seen, he doesn't seem to stand a chance against the ferocious prince of Camelot.

The servant finds himself cheering and grinning and clapping his hands one moment, the next crying out to Arthur, "Watch out!", the next worrying his lower lip when it looks like prince Richard is breaking through and gaining the upper hand. Sure, he likes prince Richard, he's kind and nice and funny, but Merlin can't imagine Arthur losing and he doesn't want the prat to get hurt.

The duel doesn't go on for more than a few minutes. Prince Richard react a millisecond too late and Arthur pushes him off his feet, places a foot on his shield so that he can't move and holds the tip of his sword against the man's chin, the metal pressing dangerously close to the skin.

"Alright, I give up," the other prince wheezes between sharp breaths for air.

Arthur looks at him warningly a little longer before stepping off and sheathing his sword - this might be a duel, but he can't kill the man, it's not like fighting a challenging foreign knight; it'd cause too many political implications and so on, and he looks a bit better when showing mercy. Prince Richard gives Arthur a strange look as he walks away without looking back. The crowd howls with happiness at seeing their beloved prince win (again: he'd won the last five or so tournaments held in Camelot in a row so his victory now isn't in any way unexpected).

"I knew you'd do it!" Merlin grins at him as Arthur crosses the sand and reaches the tent set up for him. The prince is too tired to reply at once, but a wide smile spreads over his face. Even though the idiot had spent a whole week following by prince Richard's feet, he still cheers for Arthur, still is proud of him. It was an incredible relief.

"Of course," Arthur retorts when he takes seat heavily and the servant begins to unclasp the armour. "What did you expect?"

"Prince Richard seemed like a tough challenge. The fight looked rather ferocious, and for a moment there he could've won." Merlin glances up at him, there's something shining in eyes, possibly admiration and/or pride. It might just be Arthur's imagination though. "But ... I'm happy you won."

"Yes, well," Arthur says awkwardly suddenly finding it difficult to express things, or more difficult than usual. He takes off his gloves, avoiding looking at the boy's face. "It was nothing. Once you're done here you can clean my armour, sharpen my sword and tidy my room."

Merlin doesn't say anything but smiles in that soft and knowing way - and Arthur realizes that the servant might not be as simple as he looks and might have had an inkling what this whole affair's about. The realization makes his pulse speed up, and his face flushes with embarrasment and pleasure combined.

He waves a hand toward the entrance of the tent. "Go do it then. And don't forget to bring me dinner!"

The smile stays plastered on Merlin's face for the rest of the day.

()()()

After that, the prince of Camelot never again allows Merlin to act as any visiting dignitaries' manservant. And he keeps challenging people who as much as  _look_  the wrong way at said manservant. King Uther can't for his life understand why his son as so adamant on this point, but the prince has inherited his father's stubborness. Nothing will make him change his mind. Ever.


	6. Introduce Dragons to Pendragons

He has known for about three months now. C'mon, what'd you expect? Merlin isn't exactly  _subtle_. It's rather amazing he's stayed alive for so long, and that he''s managed to fool so many people to believe that he's a simple village idiot with nothing to hide (only with some damned good luck to get out of troublesome situations and a talent of falling right into them wherever he goes).

No, not about the magic.  _That_  he figured out a long time ago – Merlin really does need to practice on keeping his secrets better (not that Arthur wants any secrets between them, but it's the principle of the thing, so that his father or other people can't figure things out and get the servant into _serious_  trouble). No, Arthur isn't thinking about the magic.

It's that infernal creature in the cave below Camelot, named Kilgarrah commonly known as the Great Dragon.

Albeit Arthur has no idea what's  _great_  about it other than its body weight.

Three months ago he was blissfully oblivious. But then, Merlin called him a prat and other strange things about how he needed to stop being so supercilious because he's got a  _great destiny to be King_  (as if Arthur didn't already know that)  _of Albion_  (the latter is rather new, though) and to unite the Kingdoms he have to quit being such a clotpole. Naturally, Arthur told him to shut up and polish his armour but the words lingered in his mind, and he struggled with them in his sleep for days.

So.

After exactly four days, nine hours and twenty minutes, he asked what the servant meant about the whole Destiny Business.

Which lead him to some Propecies and the Great Dragon living under the castle, which is telling Merlin that he needs to fulfill  _his_  destiny which is about helping Arthur to get to the throne alive and whole and sane, and, according to the dragon, _together_  they shall bring Prosperity, Peace and Magic back to the Kingdom, as the Once and Future King and his Warlock.

Not a big deal, really.

Except that Arthur's finally figured out why Merlin sometimes sprouts half-wise nonsense, why he's risking his life so much without hesitation and where this inquestionable loyalty comes from and, if the dragon's right (which it's been so far, frighteningly enough) Albion can only be through their Union since they're Two Sides of the Same Coin.

And could there be any more innuendo in one sentence?

(The dragon must be bored to come up with stuff like that.)

Upon their first meeting, Kilgarrah had been amused and incredibly cryptic – it's quite maddening but the dragon has been down in that cave for about two decades, and Arthur can't imagine that being good to the head for anyone. The creature is a bad influence of Merlin, and someone really should go down and talk to it about  _its_  problems; it'd probably help a lot in clearing the dragon's mind and making him _somewhat_  sane. All right, Arthur understands the whole Same Coin/the Moon and the Sun analogy pretty well.

Too well, in fact.

The thoughts just won't leave him alone.

It doesn't get better when he one startling day finds out that the dragon apparently is telepathic. It gets a lot, lot worse when the dragon peeks into his mind that moment when he's ordering Merlin around and secretly imagining the boy not polishing his sword but  _polishing his sword_ , the red pouty lips and those deft pale hands-

" _I see you're adapting to your destiny quite well."_

How the hell do you make a centuries-old, telepathic, foreseeing fire-breathing beast to keep out of your head and your love-life?

"Gah!  _GET OUT!"_ Arthur shouts on the top of his lungs - and no, it's not a girly shriek. It's a very manly sound of shock.

Merlin looks at him startled, dropping the cloth he's been using. Oops, Arthur said that out loud as well as in his mind. Hurriedly he corrects his mistake, raising his hands in (hopefully) a calming manner though Merlin looks quite upset.  _Oh please don't cry, don't cry,_  Arthur mentally begs.

"I mean, not  _you,_ Merlin – it's the bloody dragon; it's talking in my head."

A look of realization dawns on the servant, who looks a lot calmer suddenly, shoulders relaxing as he picks up the cloth. "Oh. He can be annoying like that."

" _I heard that, young warlock!"_

Arthur winces. "He does that a lot doesn't he?"

The warlock nods vigorously. "Yeah, pretty much all the time."

"Isn't there anyway to, I don't know, make him shut up?"

"Not really, well, except doing what he asks or solve his riddles. That usually keeps him happy." Merlin gives him an encouraging, supportive smile and resumes his duties.

Damn it. Arthur picks at the food on his plate. No way that he'll fulfill the bloody dragon's dirty wishes when the creature can read his mind. It's rather creepy. How long has the thing been watching him anyway? And Merlin? Can it hear Merlin's thoughts just as clear, or does the boy has some kind of magical defence against it?

 _"The young warlock has some fiesty dreams at times,"_  the dragon purrs and Arthur almost drops off his chair.

No, he will not, not in any way during any circumstance, ask what those  _dreams_  are about.

_"Will you stop doing that?"_

_"Twenty years in a dark stinky cave - I need my entertainment. Besides, you would do the whole of Abion a favour, young prince,"_  the dragon adds and Arthur can imagine it smirk at him, golden eyes glinting, as it flashes over an image of the prince and the warlock entangled among red duvet and silk in a way that makes Arthur suddenly blush heavily, his pulse speeding up.

_"Stop doing that!"_

"Arthur, you look a bit red," Merlin suddenly says and puts a hand on his forehead. "Are you okay? You're not feeling sick are you? It doesn't feel like a fever, but..."

"N-no," the prince says weakly. Thank god for the inutution to wear baggy trousers.

"You sure? Maybe I should fetch Gaius."

 _"Or you should have a moment_ _ **alone,**_ _"_ the dragon purrs.

Apparanetly only Arthur can hear the beast talking now; there's no change in Merlin's expression at all, like he hasn't heard a sound.

"No! I-I'm not sick. You don't have to get Gaius. Or anyone," Arthur waves with his hand. "Just, continue with your duties."

 _"Another duty could entail a proper two-man joust,"_  the dragon suggests.

"O-kay...if you say so, Arthur."

Not entierly convinced, Merlin finishes polishing the sword and, seeing as Arthur isn't eating anything more, puts away the plates on a tray to take them to the royal kitchen for cleaning.

The dragon feels the prince's pulse drop slightly and hears him sigh in relief as the servant leaves the room. In turn, Kilgarrah sighs as well but for a different reason.

_"...Pity - that was_ _**so** _ _close to fulfilling your Destiny."_


	7. Play the Hero (Because It Really Doesn't Suit Him)

His reaction comes half a second too late.

The man standing before them, draped in a heavy black cloak, lifts his hand while chanting something loudly in an ancient tongue, a silver swirl of light forms in his palm, and Merlin runs forward to stand in front of the prince and Arthur freezes in horror as the light hits the servant right in the chest like a spear.

"...Merlin...!"

Times seems to slow down, seconds becoming minutes, heartbeats morphing into hours, as Arthur stares in terror on what's happening before him.

With a sickening thud and a cry of pain, Merlin falls to the ground. Fighting unconsciousness, eyelids flickering, his eyes fills with molten gold and he whispers a few hoarse words, causing the cloaked man to crumble. Arthur isn't too focused on what happens to the sorcerer, who have just tried to kill him and his knights, who's just tried to  _kill_   _Merlin_  – the man screams curses before disappearing in a veil of black smoke, but Arthur doesn't see it.

"MERLIN!"

Arthur runs up to his fallen friend's body, dropping onto his knees. The warlock lies pale and almost lifeless and a cold intense fear grips Arthur's heart, he's struggling to breathe, and he might be trembling as he grips the boy's shoulders. He's only half-aware of his knights rushing up to his side.

He tries shaking the servant and speaking his name,  _Merlin! Merlin! Merlin?,_  but there's no response, nothing at all, and the prince gently maneuvers Merlin's head into his lap. "C'mon," Arthur whispers. "Wake up, you have to wake up. You can't leave me!"

"Sire," one of the knights says gently, "we must get him back to Camelot. Perhaps the court physician could..."  _Maybe he could save him,_ are the unspoken words.

Because they're all afraid; they know nothing about magic and have no idea what that spell did, other than it's very bad and Merlin, the one person that ties the group of knights and prince together so tightly, might be lying right before their feet  _dying_ , and they can do nothing but helplessly watch.

"Wake up," Arthur pleads, heart thundering in his chest, this can't be happening. Not yet _. Not ever._  "Open your eyes. You have to wake up – we've not fulfilled our destiny yet. You know, that stupid thing you're always blabbering about: becoming King and Warlock of Albion and all that. You can't just leave me now with the job half done, when I'm still a prat and, and I'm not ready yet to be king and let you go. Come on.  _Please_."

And it's like the warlock can hear him, by a miracle, and though he's still pale and his breathing rash, Merlin's eyes open a crack and he smiles weakly.

"...Never thought you'd be so worried 'bout me, Arthur."

Arthur almost laughs in relief. Oblivious to the knights' presence, he gingerly strokes the warlock's cheek, not hearing the breath of relief the men gathered around them emitts. There's warmth beneath his fingertips, softness. The skin isn't as cold as it looks like, despite the pale hue, and light is returning to Merlin's eyes. Maybe it's luck; maybe it's his own magic driving the other away – Arthur doesn't know, but Merlin seems to be getting better already, and he's certain that the warlock is going to survive now. He doesn't really care  _how_ , as long as Merlin is alive and well. It doesn't matter other than he's safe. Unconsciously he holds onto the boy tighter, drawing him to close to his chest, to his heartbeat.

"I always am," the prince admits. "You always are so careless, throwing yourself right into danger without thinking of your safety – of course I am. You shouldn't play a hero, Merlin; it really doesn't suit you."

"Thanks," the warlock retorts dryly, he's a bit weak and doesn't have the energy to say 'I've just saved your arse, you clotpole, and this is how you thank me, by being a prat?' but he's smiling and that's a good sign. Arthur's heartbeat slows down a bit and his hands have stopped trembling. Merlin looks up into his eyes, and they sit like that for a moment, Merlin's head in the prince's lap; staring, smiling, breathing, before the moment is over and they realize they're not alone. The knights snap into motion when the pair does, one runs off to fetch a horse.

"C'mon Merlin," Arthur says looping an arm under Merlin's back, warm and steady, and helping him to his feet. Merlin is a bit woobly and his head spins, his chest aches, and he clenches to the prince's tunic for balance, but he's breathing and awake and  _alive_. "Let's go home."

(He'll save the lecture until they're back safe and sound at the city.)


	8. Run Into Unicorns When Out Hunting

"What is it with knights and their sadistic need to go hunting?"

"I'd hardly call it sadistic," Lancelot says from the back of the company, his honour and dignity slightly offended since he desires to be a good knight of every caliber and every duty, one of which includes following prince Arthur on long and royal hunts in forests that Camelot's knights have hunted in for generations, and probably hardly homes any wildlife anymore. "It's entertaining and good exercise."

"Yeah. It's good fun," Arthur agrees.

"Not exactly like a round at the tavern, but it's not bad," Gwaine says.

Percival doesn't say much.

Walking beside the tall man, Elyan nods and adds that while he has work to do back in the forge, it's a beautiful day which should be used to its fullest – so let's gather the knights and go hunting! Everyone's happy about that. Almost everyone, that is.

Merlin has a great liking and respect for these particular knights but at the same time, they can be as infuriating as Arthur sometimes; the prat probably influences them more than they know. They all know how much Merlin dislikes hunting so why couldn't they at least bring another servant with them, if they insisted at bringing a servant at all? No, Arthur won't have that. No, Arthur just says "Only girls dislike hunting,  _Mer_ lin" – not that following on these boring, pointless hunts has ever stopped Arthur from calling Merlin a girl - and Merlin has no other choice but to follow.

"It's stupid," Merlin says displeasedly, wrinkling up his nose as he frowns. "You never catch anything anyway."

"I do!" Arthur protests loudly, feeling insulted. "What about the stag last week?"

"That was  _sir Bors_  who shot it,  _he and I_  were the ones who dragged the carcass back to Camelot, while you just sat atop of your horse looking prattish and important," Merlin retorts.

Arthur turns his head to look at him incredulously. "What? I did  _not_  look  _prattish_!"

"Yes, you did. Like a cabbage-head!"

"There, there, children, calm down," Gwaine cuts across good-manneredly before they can begin a full-fledged argument. "Though, princess, Merlin's got a point. You didn't even hold a crossbow when sighting the stag, much less the crossbow whose bolt hit it. We helped to flush it out, not you. So you really aren't the one who caught the stag."

Arthur makes a spluttering noise. "Gwaine's right," Merlin says. "You didn't catch anything last week, or the week before. If anyone does it's Bors, Percival or Gareth 'cause they're actually  _good_  at what they do."

"And me?"

"Well, mostly you're a prat. Sire."

"Children-"

"That has  _nothing_  to do with hunting or  _anything_! I am NOT a prat! And I'm good at what I do!"

Falling a bit behind the three Elyan leans closer to Percival, since the latter spends more time around the prince and his manservant, having no other occupation than being a knight. He's not often seen the odd pair interact other than briefly. "Are they often like this?"

Percival shrugs, yeah they are, he's seen them often enough. But he's not a man of many words.

Lancelot nods. "Always." They share a snicker.

Up ahead, the bickering pair and Gwaine are unsuccessfully trying to keep their voices down and spot prey, at the same time as keeping the argument going. Arthur still is adamant that he took down the stag last week; Gwaine says that Arthur's taking the credit for something he's not done just because he's trying to impress someone; Merlin thinks Arthur's a clotpole, period.

They search the woods for a few hours only managing to catch two rabbits (Percival and Elyan did that). Merlin thinks that, since it's been awhile, the sun is going down soon and they're not even having a trail to hunt anymore, surely they're heading back home now? His feet are aching and his legs feel sore. He should've insisted on horses. At least then they'd be sitting down.

"Arthur, c'mon," he says with a small whine. "Can't we go ba-"

"Shh!"

Everyone tense up at the sharp hushed command, eyes flickering, and they silently move their hands to their weapons as they see what Arthur's seeing. Up ahead, something moves, leaves rustling. The prince's hand tightens around the crossbow and Merlin leans over his shoulder, trying to see what it is. Slowly Arthur lifts the crossbow taking aim, as the bushes part with a rustle and fall of hooves...

"Oh!" Merlin breathes, and Arthur lets out a sigh, lowering the weapon.

He's not forgotten what happened last time he ran into one of these creatures, what pain and misery he brought onto Camelot, that he almost killed his people and Merlin. He can't let it happen again. The knights on the other hand haven't seen it before and they stare at it wide-eyed, but the prince hurriedly stops them before they can take aim and shoot.

"It's a unicorn!" Elyan exclaims.

"It's so beautiful," Merlin murmurs in his typical Merlinish way, stepping closer. The unicorn mimics the move and allows the warlock to gently stroke its white neck.

"Oh, so it's not an act then," Gwaine piques up and grins at Arthur. "You know, you're awfully slow, princess. You better get a move on before someone else does."

The prince gags, eyes widening, and then glares at the knight with a burning intensity that could make a normal man quake in his boots and turn a house on fire. "Not. Another. Word. Or I'll beat your black and blue!"

True to his trademark nature Gwaine just winks, unfazed. A bit in front of the two, Merlin is totally unaware. He's completely fascinated and his eyes shine with glee and he can't stop smiling like a fool, petting the unicorn's mane and glossy coat. It leans into the tender touch. "Ooh," the young warlock coos like a child who's just found a treasure in the backyard and Arthur crosses his arms over his chest - not sulking, just grimacing – turning away a few degrees, to ignore his manservant's and knights' behavior. He doesn't want to tear Merlin away from the creature just yet, because it'll upset the servant (too much), but doesn't say that because it'd be quite awkward.

"It is indeed an incredible creature," Lancelot agrees with Merlin, taking off one glove and trying to reach out but the unicorn snorts and steps away, avoiding the knight's hand. His brow knots in a frown. Seeing that his fellow knight isn't aware of why the creature behaves like this, when it should be common knowledge, Gwaine pats his back.

"I see you've gotten lucky. More than the princess, I mean."

"What do you mean, Gwaine?" the honourable knight asks, looking at him confused.

"Well, myth says that unicorns only lets themselves be touched by  _fair maidens._ "

Lancelot turns into an interesting shade of red.

Percival is always quiet but now he's unusually shady and flushes as he hears this, stepping away to ... do something else. The unicorn takes a step towards him and the large man squeaks indignantly as the unicorn's soft big nose puffs against his chest.

Gwaine laughs. "I never thought you'd still be like that, mate," the bearded man says and winks at the tall man. "Need a hand?"

The largest knight mutters something about marriage or waiting for love and gets patted on the arm by his friend, who leans in and proceeds to give him advice on how to do things proper and right and like a man. Percival backs away looking rather terrified and then croaks about "Having to go over here and do something else…important…"

Arthur thinks they're all just silly, stupid and distracting, and Merlin has to stop doing such stupid blatant things like petting unicorns with lecherous knights nearby – it only gives them unacceptable, horrible ideas. "That's enough. Let's head back to the city.

"But-" Merlin starts, a hand on the unicorn's side, giving the prince a big-eyed lost-sweet-puppy look. The prince nearly gives in, but with a wince remembers that the knights are still there.

"We're leaving, Merlin."

"But-"

"And no, we're not keeping it." Arthur wrinkles up his nose. He can just imagine the fit his father would have, and the stares - not everyone is as oblivious as Lancelot or stupid as Merlin - and talk will spread like wildfire if they enter the city like this, the knights blushing and bickering and Merlin practically riding on the unicorn through the gates like a sign and, by the gods, Arthur would never hear the end of it.

The servant pouts. "I didn't mean to keep him, Arthur...Can't we stay just a little longer?"

"Is the little princess scared of the big white monster?" Gwaine says mockingly and earns another glare and a sharp angry look from the unicorn; it looks suddenly rather ferocious. "Look, it's not scary, let me show you." The knight raises his hand toward the unicorn but it almost bites his hands off. "Oops, sorry there, mate."

"You've clearly spent too much time around the tavern, not just around the drink," Elyan states brilliantly.

But then the creature nudges Arthur's shoulder, so unexpectedly that he stumbles in the young warlock's direction.

"Oh, I didn't think you were like that, princess-"

"Shut.  _Up._ "

Arthur glares as the unicorn, which stares back without blinking. He's pretty sure that it's calling him names in its head.

Merlin looks just confused; when the unicorn obviously likes the prince, why's he blushing like in embarrassment? "Arthur, why are you so red?"

The conversation is too awkward and abnormal now and Arthur takes his weaponry, slings it his over his shoulder and begins to stalk away through the woods, effectively frightening away any wildlife. Merlin frowns as the prince grabs his arms and tugs, forcing him with him.

"Come on, knights! We're heading back to Camelot!  _Now!_ " Arthur shouts over his shoulder.

Gwaine smirks. "Tsk, tsk, princess. Watch out for the monsters!"

_"When we get back I'm gonna turn you into meatpie!"_

Elyan rolls his eyes. "You never learn, do you, Gwaine?"

With a sigh, Merlin lets himself be dragged away from the unicorn, giving it a last sad glance before it trots off through the woods. It's really pretty and it's not doing any harm, but the prince still wants them to get as far away as fast as possible, still holding onto his arm; it's really not fair and he thinks his arm might dislodge from its socket -  _yeah_ , Merlin thinks, _Arthur is_ such  _a prat sometimes._


	9. Accept Gifts From Secret Admirers

"What's that?" Arthur demands to know, pointing at the thing in the boy's hands. Merlin looks confused, then a look over realization comes over him and finally he blushes.

"Uh, just a letter..."

"A letter, hm?" The prince relaxes a bit. "From your mother, I presume?"

"No, it's not from my mother," Merlin says. "It doesn't say who it's from."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, tensing up. He puts out a hand and speaks much like a child who demands something he sees in a candy shop by stomping a foot and pout. Except he's not pouting or stomping his foot, he's not that childish. "What? Let me see."

"No!" The servant holds the item in question to his chest possessively, and the prince looks both unimpressed and a bit concerned. "I mean," Merlin babbles, with a rising flush to his cheeks, "it's private..."

"C'mon, Merlin, it can't be that bad."

He wriggles the letter out of the protesting servant's hands ("No! Give it back!" the servant cries, to which Arthur responds with the famous 'I'm the prince, I can read what I want'-look), and Merlin looks like a ripe tomato when Arthur opens it and begins to read. Already at the first line, at the first word, Arthur freezes up, his breath catching in his throat. No. It can't be. No. (The sky might be falling down.) Nononono.

"Uhm, can I have it back now?" Merlin asks carefully.

It's a...it's a letter of  _confession_. It's filled with all kinds of emotional, girly, poetic stuff and a spot-on description of Merlin's beautiful smile and his lovely blue eyes and Arthur would have laughed at the silliness of the content, if not the letter was addressed to his manservant. No, now it's  _serious business_  and Arthur feels inexplicably angry. Furious. A flame rises in his chest, his heart.

"Arthur, can I have it back? Please?"

All of a sudden Merlin finds himself pinned down my Arthur's gaze, the man's voice low and dangerous like a wild animal's.  **"Who gave you this?"**

The boy's eyes flickers. "Err, I don't know, it was sitting on my bedside table...when I woke up it was there."

On his bedside table? When he woke up it was there? Arthur sees red. Someone's dared to sneak inside Merlin's room, when he was lying there asleep, alone and vulnerable -  _who dares to?_ Anything could have happened! Merlin could've been attacked or hurt or  _worse._

The prince can't stand still anymore and begins to pace. Someone's broken into his manservant's chamber. He needs to get better security around the physician's chambers immediately. He has to do something, he can't just stand here and pretend all is fine when his servant is being threatened by some burglar who leaves romantic letters by the boy's bed!

"Arthur," Merlin says, biting his lip; "Give me the letter! It's  _private!"_

Arthur takes a few breaths, then nods sharply not really looking at him. "Fine." He thrusts the piece of parchment into the servant's hands, and Merlin looks at the letter with shining eyes.

Something has to be done.

()()()

When Merlin comes back to his chambers after dealing with the laundry, Arthur notices he's chipper (more than usual) and still blushing. And there's a flower visible between the layers of the neckerchief.

"Merlin," Arthur practically growls. "Where'd you get that?"

"Somebody left it in my room, I went there to change shirt because I spilled water on the other one, though it wasn't my fault really because I tripped and... anyway, it was just lying there, with this note saying it was a gift for me and-"

"Somebody left it in your room? AGAIN?"

Merlin nods; he doesn't look bothered or nervous or anything, only like some coy maiden who bashfully basks in the glow of unexpected but not unwelcome attention. "Yeah. There's a whole bouquet, with reds and yellows and whites - I really like the white ones! It's really pretty …" The dreamy-eyed warlock suddenly hears a strange sound and turns to the prince, frowning. "Arthur, are you ... growling?"

"No," Arthur hisses like a ferocious feline.

"Now you're acting  _really_  weird."

Something must be done  _now._

()()()

Admittedly, the plan sounded better when he was theorizing back in his chambers.

But here he is. He's timed it carefully, of course, because he rather not have a run-in with Gaius or worse, Merlin, having to explain what on earth he's doing in Merlin's room. More precisely, in the cupboard.

For a servant, Merlin is exceptionally untidy: the room is a mess. All right, fair enough, half of it belongs to Gaius, like those boxes in the corner – this was originally the physician's storage room after all. That silly colourful bouquet stands on the bedside table – Arthur would've liked to get rid of it, but cannot without getting Merlin suspicious. But there are things lying spread over the floor, including a couple of books and a tunic and there aren't many hiding places. A sheet and some other articles of clothing are hanging to dry on a line attached between two walls, next to some sacks, but it's a bit too risky. The boy might take down the linen from there and reveal whoever hides behind it. So, really, the cupboard's the only choice. It's relatively empty, an evidence it's not used much, and it's almost as tall as a man and wide enough for him to fit in it.

If he hunch downs his shoulders that is, and fold his legs tightly - he's not spending hours  _standing_  in that thing. It's not exactly comfortable, but Arthur is on an important mission, so he can ignore things like that. Contrary to what Merlin constantly claims, he's not a spoiled brat.

So after spying for a few minutes to make sure the coast is clear, he saw Gaius leave the room and he hurriedly slipped inside, up the stairs to Merlin's room and the cupboard. He decided, after some consideration, to bring his sword. Just…just in case. You know. In case the so-called  _secret_   _admirer_  has more in mind than leaving silly romantic letters and flowers at Merlin's bedside. It's Arthur duty to protect his people in general and his servant in particular, after all.

He's trained since childhood and been in battles and war so he's learned the virtue of patience and secrecy. He also has got a fairly good comprehension of time even if there is little to tell it by. It can't take that long to remove the dirty dishes from his chambers and scrub the floors, can it?

Obviously it does because Arthur startles awake, unhappy when realizing that he's fallen asleep, as the door to the physician's chamber opens loudly and is followed by a familiar, tired voice.

"Hi, Gaius, I'm home."

"I prepared some dinner, I thought you'd be hungry."

"Oh! It's chicken!"

"Yes, I knew you'd appreciate it. Gods know you need to put some flesh on your bones."

Merlin makes an indignant sound. "I'm not  _that_  thin."

Evidently he's very hungry because it's totally quiet for a couple of minutes, apart from the occasional sound of a spoon coming in contact with a bowl. Gaius speaks a little but Merlin doesn't say much; he seems really tired, making Arthur frown. Maybe he should cut down some of the servant's duties. Strange, Merlin's never complained about it. Well – only about the hunting. And a bit about training. And mucking out the stables. Okay, Merlin has asked for a day off quite a lot but he's never told Arthur that he comes home totally exhausted and half-starved and really needs a break, because Arthur can't let him get out of hunting just because Merlin thinks it's boring. How can  _anyone_  think hunting is boring anyway?

Immediately the feeling of annoyance goes away when Merlin comes into the room, closes the door, sits by the edge of the bed and takes off his boots.

Unwillingly, Arthur's pulse speeds up a bit as he sees it. From where he is, he's got a perfect view of the bed (and the person on it) through the tiny crack the cupboard is open.

Next, the shirt. Almost excruciatingly slowly, Merlin unlaces his tunic and pulls it over his shoulders and Arthur can't tear his eyes away from the milky white smooth skin, it looks unblemished and soft and glowing in the candlelight and the prince lets out the tiniest squeal as the boy stands up to take off his trousers. It really isn't honorable and good, this behavior, Arthur knows that and he would punish any man who has the indecency to spy on others like this, but, Merlin looks really irresistible and Arthur can barely breathe, can't look away, and he really must stop the line of thought right there before his mind goes into a minor meltdown.

It's incredibly, incredibly difficult to sit here in the cupboard and be able to just watch but not touch all that naked skin and Arthur bites his hand to stop himself from making any sound.

Merlin stays oblivious and puts on a nightshirt, those wonderful long legs bare, and slips into bed.

This really isn't a well-timed, well-planned plan…really, it's not. He should've chosen another spot to hide, or come in at night, or something, so that he wouldn't witness that beautiful body… _No! Stop! No naughty thoughts!_  Arthur shouts at himself, mentally kicking his own head.

After a few tantalizing minutes Merlin's breath evens out.

Now for the wait.

It's a long wait. Arthur already got aching limbs and an itch on his back he can't reach and cramps in his legs. There's no guarantee that the  _secret admirer_  will come here tonight. He might be stuck here until morning without anything happening and then somehow have to sneak out after his manservant (and past Gaius' with the horrifying Eyebrow Look) and some explain to Merlin why he looks so tired and why he's arriving at his own chambers after his own servant. Merlin isn't like other servants: instead of just nodding at his master's words, he's going to question and ask and be concerned. Plus, he's always late. Sometimes very late. So Arthur is going to be stuck here for some very long hours.

 _I should have brought a pillow_ , he thinks absently.

Somehow, he falls asleep without remembering to do it, because the next moment it's so dark he can't see anything as he opens his eyes, startled.

Footsteps. The click of a shoe's heel against the stone floor. Arthur tenses up, his limbs feeling heavy and joints stuck, and he fumbles after his sword while trying to be as quiet as possible. He searches for the crack to look at the bed but there's too little light. Instead he relies on his other senses as he slowly, slowly opens the cupboard…it doesn't creak, thankfully, just the whisper of a sound…The footsteps stop momentarily. A short shuffling sound, like something being pulled out of a pocket...

Arthur judges the distance and direction and lurches forward in one certain movement.

And stumbles on a box or something on the messy floor, ungracefully falls over and crashes into whoever is leaning over the bedside table. His sword clangs onto the floor with the sound of thunder and Merlin wakes up with a startled cry. The candle on the bedside table flares to life, the servant's eyes golden. Arthur blinks as his eyes are suddenly flooded with light and he can make out his surroundings.

"Wha— _Arthur_?"

Wide-eyed, Merlin gapes down at him. Arthur is still struggling with the intruder, who he now sees is a muscled, tall man with partly covered face and wearing simple clothes like a peasant, with a rich arm-less vest on top, with many pockets on it. Something has fallen out of one of the pockets: another letter. Probably very cheesy and romantic and Arthur nearly strangles the man, but Merlin crawls over the edge of the bed and grabs his arm, pulling on it.

"Stop! You'll suffocate him! Arthur - stop it!"

Arthur reluctantly lets the man breathe but still holds him down. "Who are you to dare sneak into my manservant's chambers in the middle of the night?"

"Umm,  _you_ 're sneaking in my chambers in the middle of the night too," Merlin points out rather faintly. He clenches at the blanket, pulling it closer to his body, not feeling very safe anymore and a bit embarrassed. How long had Arthur been there? Has the prince been watching him sleep...? Blood rushes up heating his face at the thought. He should ask Gaius if he's allowed to install a lock on the door...Yeah.  _Why's Arthur here?_  he wonders, mind reeling.  _And that man?_

The masked man doesn't speak up so Arthur rips of the cloth that's hiding the face, and stares in shock, the prince's eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"…PERCIVAL?"

"Sorry, sire," the knight mumbles, terribly embarrassed.

Well, that explained the guy's bulk.

"You?  _You_  have been leaving those stupid gifts?" Arthur asks. He can't believe this. He could imagine it was a stranger, a lecherous man asking for trouble or a nervous young love-struck squire, not one of his knights. Except maybe Gwaine. Possibly Gareth, the man is a fool when trying to court anyone. But not  _Percival_.

"I-yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't mean any harm! I just...I wanted to leave this," the young knight babbles, gesturing toward the fallen letter.

Perfect. Just perfect. Percival is one of his strongest, brightest, most loyal knights. If Arthur punishes him it won't go unnoticed, so people will ask and then his father will find out and then  _everyone_  will know that the prince stepped in to protect his manservant's virtue by attacking a knight in the middle of the night, in the servant's room no less. This is just great.

"Um, you left me the letter?" Merlin asks timidly, looking at the knight through long black eyelashes. The look is almost infuriating, Arthur thinks, when not directed at him. Merlin shouldn't look like that at  _anyone_  but the prince of Camelot.

Percival looks up at the servant and nods awkwardly, causing Merlin to smile shyly. Arthur still hasn't let the man up off the ground.

"It's really sweet. Thank you."

The knight looks like he's just gone to heaven.

"No,  _Mer_ lin, it's not really sweet," Arthur growls, because Merlin is his and shouldn't think that any letters or gifts other than those given to him by Arthur are  _sweet_. "Don't thank him!"

"It was! And could you let him go now? He's not dangerous." Arthur rolls of the knight, who gets to his feet slowly. Both has a fine set of bruises now and while the knight looks mortified under the prince's glare, the prince looks incredibly furious; it's a wonder he's not exploded yet, or have steam coming out of his ears. Merlin turns to the knight. "But maybe you should, um, give me things in person and not sneak into my room…"

"Yes. I apologize," Percival babbles, very out of character. "I'm terribly sorry. I thought I could...Maybe I could get attention this way... Gwaine said, just as an idea and I believed that maybe- but it shan't happen again, I promise."

Arthur suddenly has an urge to repeatedly bang his head into the nearest flat surface. Of course.  _Of course._  He should've known this was coming all since that second unicorn incident. If something weird is going on and roses are involved, it's all Gwaine's fault.

"Haven't I told you to never listen to any 'advice' Gwaine gives?"

"Yes, sire, you have," Percival says, stressing the sire in hope it might please the prince and make his punishment less severe. "I'm sorry."

Arthur sighs tiredly. "All right. I'm too tired for this mess, so I'm letting you go. But I will have you know if anything like this happen  _ever_  again…"

"It won't! Sire! I swear it!"

"All right, then go."

Percival bows and scurries out of the room like a frightened hare. Arthur breathes out in relief. He's going to have a conversation with Gwaine (again) tomorrow, about behavior, and address all his knights again how important it is not to listen to Gwaine's advice. Yeah. Tomorrow. Now some sleep would be nice. His neck and back feels all bent and sore. Hmm. Sleep... Arthur nods to himself, almost falling asleep on his feet.

Merlin gives him a strange look, as the prince doesn't move out of his room. "Arthur," he asks and cocks his head, "Were you sitting in the cupboard all night?"

()()()

To Merlin and Arthur it's slightly awkward coming down to the breakfast table the following morning, as they are greeted by Gaius and the quite dangerous Eyebrow Look. The prince tries to look dignified and nonchalant, but fails, and grapples for words on what he's doing here in the first place. Merlin launches into a fairly sane explanation of everything's that happened and who actually gave him the flowers and the letters, why Arthur has acted so wierd and what he's doing here, and why there was such a ruckus in the middle of the night, but Gaius raises a hand to stop him in mid-sentence.

"Merlin, sire; all I ask is that you keep it down next time. Some people here were trying to sleep."


	10. Refuse Gifts From the Prince of Camelot

_Odd,_  Merlin thinks as he makes Arthur's bed that morning _, I don't recognize that blanket._  Arthur has got quite a few of them: fluffy, red, silvery, silky, thick, thin, black, white, striped. Merlin recognizes them all. But he's never seen this one before. It's a deep red colour with golden stitches and the Pendragon insignia on top, and it looks really soft and thick and completely new, and Merlin can't help himself and reaches out to carefully touch it where it lies neatly folded by the foot of the bed.

"Arthur, do you want this one on the bed too or should I put it in the cabinet?"

"Hm?" The prince looks up from his desk where he's doing some paperwork. His eyes light up as they fall on the fabric in the servant's hands. "No, you can take it."

Merlin blinks in confusion. "I didn't ask about me taking it anywhere…you mean the cabinet?"

"I mean, it's for you. You can keep it." Arthur sounds a bit self-conscious, almost like anxious.

Realization dawns on Merlin, his eyes widening, and he runs a hand over the fabric. It's wonderful and soft and probably very warm, and his heart beats a bit faster at the thought that it's been given to him by the prince. "Really?"

"Yes, well," Arthur says uncomfortably, starting to sort through his papers very busily. "Can't have my servant catching a cold."

Merlin presses the blanket close to his chest as he says thank you but Arthur just waves his hand, and it's awkwardly silent as they both go about their duties.

()()()

 _It's a very nice blanket,_  Merlin thinks as he wakes up the next morning, all warm and nice, and cuddles deeper into the folds of the fabric. It's got two layers and keeps the heat well. For once his feet don't feel like ice. He sighs. Mm. Just five more minutes…

He wakes up more than five minutes later. Gaius isn't there, only a bowl of cold porridge awaits him on the table and Merlin dashes into his clothes, out of the room and through the corridors.

When Arthur is greeted the smell of breakfast he isn't impressed. "You're late," he states brilliantly. "By two hours, in fact." He's dressed already, and working on some important letters he should have yesterday but didn't because he was distracted by watching/thinking about Merlin. Not that he'll ever admit such a thing.

Merlin looks sheepish. "Sorry. It's that blanket, it was so comfortable I fell asleep again." Arthur frown a little and Merlin mistakes the look for one of very much displeasure, and hurriedly adds, "You could have it back, you know, so I get here on time." Though he's not so keen on giving it back, not really, when it's so soft and nice and warm.

At once Arthur raises his hands in a No! Stop!-motion. "No! Keep it. I'm serious. It's yours."

Merlin grins. "So, I'm pardoned if I'm late from now on?"

"Nope." Merlin's smile falls. Arthur smirks and gives him a list of duties: "You can start by scrubbing the floors, then my chainmail needs polishing…"

()()()

Arthur's acting so strange, Merlin thinks, because it's been a very odd week. Arthur is still a prat on the ordering part: always 'Merlin do this' and 'Merlin do that' instead of asking for things. Though he hasn't had to muck out the stables a single time, or go hunting, or walk the those ferocious wild dogs, but that might just be luck.

Then, there are the gifts.

After fetching dinner for the prince, he found a cloak in the same position as the blanket the day before. Arthur told him in passing-by that it was an old thing he didn't want any more, Merlin could keep it if he wanted, Arthur didn't care - but when Merlin picked it up he noticed it felt and smelled fresh and new and there was no sign it ever had been worn before.

After that it's a book, but not on etiquette. "It's a good story, you should read it. If you can read. You do know how to read, right?" Arthur had said as Merlin found it hiding beneath one of the fluffy pillows, and Merlin had nodded, scanning the cover; it was a tale about a knight and a princess and there was a dragon in the corner. "Yeah, I can read," he'd said and Arthur had replied "Good," sounding very accomplished, and left the room before Merlin could ask why he'd given him it.

By the end of the week Merlin is both happy and very puzzled. The gifts aren't like the letter Percival had sent him, there are no words explaining  _why_  he receives them. And Arthur doesn't look at him extra or anything. He'd even given him a book without being sure that Merlin actually could read. And though he's grateful and all, he's not sure if he should accept the gifts. Like the morning when he's presented with a pair of new boots, a pair of trousers and two tunics and this time Arthur can't deny it's all new and the fabric fine and silky – it feels weird to wear them at first, they're  _too_  comfortable. And it feels somewhat wrong to accept fine things like that...like he can't possibly deserve them.

Merlin can't figure out why Arthur suddenly is so full of giving. Some things he hasn't real use for; like the book, he doesn't really need that…He's not done anything special lately to deserve gifts, what he can remember.

"Arthur, can I ask something?" he says the following morning of a night full of pondering and thinking. The prince nods absently. "Why have you given me all those things?"

"Oh. Umm. Well," Arthur says looking up and he hesitates, before leaning back in the chair and deciding to be quite honest. "Because you need them … and because I  _want_  to give them to you."

Merlin's brow knits. "I'm pretty sure it's not Yuletide or my birthday or anything…"

"You idiot," the prince says affectionately and stands up, smiling slightly, and walks up to him putting a hand on the servant's shoulders. "I wanted to give you gifts because you deserve them. You've done a lot for me, you know. Saving my life, for example. I'm not … I'm not blind, I can see you don't have much …"

"Oh," the warlock says, his neck suddenly growing hot. Then, after a second, the glow in his chest –  _Arthur really cares for_   _him_  – is replaced by some embarrassment and even anger. "But I'm not a charity case, Arthur! If you're giving me stuff just because, I don't know, you feel pity then I don't want them!"

"You're not a charity case," Arthur says heatedly, hurriedly, sincerely; "You mean a lot to me Merlin. And I want to…thank you."

Merlin breathes out like in relief. "It's all right then. But, you really didn't have to."

The prince's eyes narrows. "You're not giving them back."

"But-"

"Merlin, one more word and I'll have you mucking out the royal stables."

Merlin hurries to nod and agree that he'll keep the gifts, and holds the latest one he's just found on one of the pillows on the prince's bed, a ring with the Pendragon insignia on a chain, close to his chest. "Thank you, Arthur. It's very sweet of you."

The prince looks embarrased and shuffles his feet and waves him away, Merlin smiling at him. When later asked, Arthur will just hum and not answer why he's practically skipping down the halls.


	11. During Any Circumstance Fall Ill

Merlin is strangely quiet. When asked a question he shrugs or nods and hums in agreement, but the retorts are few. Arthur asks if he's feeling okay, and the reply is, "Yeah, fine. What do you want to wear today?" and the subject drops.

"Nothing too formal, there are no meetings today, thank god," Arthur says and stretches like a cat after a nap. He glances at the servant surprised when there's no ironic or mocking reply. Trying to wriggle one out of the boy, or at least heighten the mood, he adds; "That councilor, Lord Matthew, was attempting to chew my ear off yesterday; he should be glad I hadn't brought my sword."

There's no 'Well I understand him, you're a prat, sire; of course he's irritated with you.'

"Really annoying, that man," Arthur continues. "A bit like you."

In truth the councilor is the opposite of Merlin. Whereas Merlin is like a fresh ray of sunshine, the infuriating councilor is as joyous and friendly as a gloomy storm cloud, and the whole city seems to share Arthur's opinion (and fondness) of them both.

Merlin nods like he's daydreaming and far-away and walks straight into the chair placed on the other side of the table, and the things in his hands fall to the floor with a scramble of metal and pottery. The servant stumbles, manages to catch himself against the table and steadies himself. He blinks down at the objects on the floor dumbly, as if surprised to see them there.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur stands up and walks over to him. "You're more clumsy than usual,  _and_  you're not talking back. Have you hit your head or something?"

"Yeah, so are you. I mean, more of a prat," Merlin says a couple of seconds later, much slower than his jokes usually come, and he sounds feeble and a bit hoarse. Awkwardly he kneels and starts gathering the things he's dropped. Every movement is jarred and he looks slightly dazed.

"Maybe you should take a rest," Arthur's voice floats over to him.

Merlin shakes his head jerkily. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired." He grabs the edge of the table with one hand, pulls himself almost agonizingly slowly onto his feet, only to lose his balance yet again.

 _Thud_.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouts, rushing up Merlin's side. He goes on automatic, his pulse unwillingly picking up; he checks the boy's brow, breathing, heartbeat. It's calm and steady if a bit hoarse and Merlin looks as pale as flour – not that Arthur is around flour or kitchens or anything often enough to really compare – and Arthur pulls him up into a sitting position, the servant's head leaning against the prince's chest.

"Ow."

"Are you OK? How are you feeling? Any pain? Soreness?"

The words fall hurriedly out of the prince's mouth. Merlin didn't hit his head did he? The prince's hands flies up to examine the servant's head for any bumps or signs of damage; thankfully there's none. But the brow is warm,  _too_  warm, beneath his palm.

The warlock blinks up at him. "'m a bit dizzy…"

"Okay, put an arm around my shoulder, lean on me." Like aiding a wounded soldier, Arthur picks him up. The servant is strangely light (a million little worries flash through Arthur's mind: when was the last time Merlin ate a proper meal?) but his legs are long and won't cooperate, so it's a small struggle to get him across the room.

"You should've told me you're feeling ill, stupid!" the prince berates him, ignoring the protests as he lays the servant onto the bed. Merlin mutters something about being fine, that it's just a minor cold or something; Arthur naturally doesn't listen as he pulls the covers over the boy's frame, which suddenly looks so frail and pale and fragile, and Arthur has a minor panic attack – has Merlin always been this thin and pale? He looks like he could break like glass! What if the illness is serious? What's caused it, has he been exposed and ill for a long time and Arthur not noticed – how long has this been going on?  _What if he won't_   _recover_?

He has to take a couple of deep breaths to calm down and makes sure Merlin is comfortable beneath at least five thick blankets, before ordering the guard in the corridor outside to fetch Gaius. Maybe it's the urgency of the order, or the distraught look on the prince's face; the guard rushes to toward the physician's chambers without wasting a second.

As he returns to the bedside and sat carefully next to Merlin's limp body in the course of eight seconds from leaving the door, Merlin has almost fallen asleep, snuggling into the duvet. He looks so pitiful Arthur can't help himself and strokes his brow, fingertips touching his fringe. Merlin makes a kittenish sound.

"... Don't do that again," Arthur whispers, quietly, not sure if he's being heard. "I'm going to lose years of my life out of worry, just because of you. I've never had such a terrible servant in my entire life."

Merlin opens his eyes a little. He looks very, very tired and it takes awhile for him to speak, and it's not very clearly or loudly. "Y'always say…'m a terrible servant," he murmurs tiredly.

"You're almost never on time, you keep talking back, keep running into danger and risky situations and you're awful at hunting. Yeah - you're a dreadful servant."

Merlin chuckles, mirth shining in his eyes and lighting up his whole face, and Arthur's heart, but then mid-way the sound turns into a cough and Arthur continues to stroke his brow soothingly. "…You'd hate it any other way," the warlock whispers and Arthur smiles gently, silently agreeing. Any period of time with a perfect, submissive, quiet, no-talking, obedient, always-on-time servant would drive him absolutely mad, and he cannot imagine his life without the joyful, kind, unselfish, wonderful warlock by his side.  _He's like my other half,_  Arthur muses, his heart warming. When he realizes what he's just thought, heat rises to his face and he clears his throat; Merlin is vacant and half-asleep, and hopefully haven't noticed the odd behavior.

"I've called for Gaius, he should be here any minute now. He'll find out what's wrong. Did you feel ill anytime earlier today?"

"…Only 'bit tired…"

Arthur can't stop frowning, and he doesn't like that answer. He's got a feeling that Merlin is the kind of person who hides things to the last minute and puts everyone else's welfare miles before his own. If a plague struck the city, Merlin would be out there tending to them all, but if something happens to himself, he won't tell anyone, not wanting them to worry _. It's an awful contradiction_ , Arthur thinks. He should give Merlin a proper and clear order to never again hide if he feels ill or uncomfortable. It makes Arthur worry even more.

There's a knock at the door and Gaius comes in, carrying a bag of supplies, none of which makes any sense to the prince. Arthur stands up to the physician some room, but doesn't take his eyes off the servant.

After a couple of minutes, Gaius has finished examining the patient and hearing Arthur about what he knows about Merlin's illness, and concludes: "It's nothing serious, sire. I'm going to prepare a potion which he needs to take once every morning and every night for a couple of days. He needs to be kept warm and resting and eat regularly. Don't worry, sire, he'll be fine."

Arthur exhales deeply. Merlin will be fine. Everything will be all right. As Gaius takes his leave, promising to be back within the hour with the potion, the prince resumes his position on the bedside, just sitting there sometimes stroking the now sleeping warlock's hair (it's really soft and nice), tucking in the edges of the blankets whenever Merlin seems the slightest cold or uncomfortable, and murmurs nonsense into the boy's ear. Merlin leans into his touch and seems to slowly crawl toward the prince's warm body. Arthur doesn't mind. Anyone from the outside barging in and seeing them like this would be shocked at the honest care and concern shining on the prince's face.

"You have to stop being sick," Arthur whispers, stroking back a stray lock of hair behind one of the servant's ridiculous ears. "I don't like it."


	12. Befriend Clairvoyant Druids Appearing Randomly Out of Thin Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning! Contains Monthy Python references._

It's all Arthur's fault.

Or well, the knights'. Technically it's the fault of their desire to go out hunting, and Arthur to agreeing, well, ordering them to more like once they suggested it. Merlin just…was dragged along. So it's partly his fault too, for coming with them (not that he  _couldn't_  go with them, being a servant and unquestionably loyal and all) and not staying behind in Camelot.

Anyway, it's mostly Arthur's fault, because he's the one who dragged them out here and decided there was no danger about the whole thing. From there, it simply rolls downhill. He's right now trying to keep up appearances and stay cool -  _not_  attack the nearest object with his sword or bang his head into nearest flat surface - while inside chanting foul things about his own stupidity. Not that he's stupid, but he should've realized that going out hunting today in this forest and bring Merlin along was a Bad Idea.

It started when instead of finding the tracks from prey, they found the tracks from humans. The knights thought maybe it were peaceful travelers, but it was an odd long way from the road and they decided to investigate, just in case the tracks belonged to some bandits or another: it's not impossible, and it's their duty to protect the people. So, they followed the tracks. It took awhile. It was quite difficult and Merlin seemingly didn't realize how much concentration is necessary to follow half-hidden tracks in the middle of the forest, because he just wouldn't shut up ("Can't we go home soon? My feet are so sore. I'm hungry. You've not caught anything anyway. My feet are hurting. Can't we turn back now? This is so  _boring_ … Oh look Arthur, a flower! It's  _yellow_!"), and Arthur whacked him over the head once or twice.

Then this group of four cloaked, mysterious-looking people appears out of thin air right in front of Arthur's nose -  _literarily_  - while speaking some gibberish language which Merlin apparently understands because the young warlock looks first surprised, then shocked, then embarrassed, and says something to the cloaked men like a greeting. To Arthur's ears it also means zilch and he glares at the men, then at his servant in annoyance.

" _Merlin,_ " he growls, "how the hell do you know these men?"

Merlin looks innocent and a bit confused. "I … I don't know them."

"Then how can you understand them? They're talking gibberish! What are they saying?"

"Err…I've learned so that I could read Gaius' books about healing and stuff…?" Merlin says vaguely. And Arthur realizes he must be talking about something else, namely that the strangers are speaking the language of the Old Religion and Merlin is still jumpy about the subject of his magic (despite the fact that Arthur has known for, like, two months, one week, four days and nine hours).

"And they're talking about – well, you," continues the warlock. "And me. And some other stuff as well."

Arthur stares at the servant incredulous. "What  _exactly_  are they saying about me - and  _you_?"

"Oh, just the usual; Destiny and Albion and swords in lakes…" The servant sounds too laid-back and chipper. Arthur should be worried, but he finds himself actually relaxing more and more with each word, and actually interested in what the druids are saying. Merlin remains vague, though. It sounds like he's heard it most before. Arthur doesn't know if he should be surprised.

The men, who then turns to the knights with hands raised in a sign of peace and speaks proper English, tells them that they mean no harm and basically (though very politely: they don't speak as roughly and don't seem as uncivilized as Uther has made them out to be) asks if the Prince of Camelot (because of course, since they're druids, they know who they all are) and his most noble knights would like to come 'round for tea. They astonish the knights by knowing their names before the knights have a chance to speak. Merlin still has a flush on his neck.

Gwaine thinks tea sounds great and somehow the rest of the knights agrees; even Elyan who was the first to point his sword at the strangers, and Merlin seems first reluctant (glancing at Arthur every five seconds) before nodding excitedly and smiling.

And the druids bow. A lot. To Merlin. It's a subtle bow, only with the head, but still. Arthur is incredibly perplexed. Why are they bowing to  _Merlin_? They call Arthur sire, but there's no bowing involved, and he can kind of understand why they're not keen on showing him respect as Prince – Camelot hunts their kind, after all. But Merlin isn't nobility or anything.

 _What the hell's going on?_  Arthur wonders, and asks as much.

"Do not worry, we mean no harm," one of the druids with a strange beard says. "We heard that Emrys was here with the young Prince and wished to meet him. It is indeed an honour, my lords."

The druid waves a hand muttering some words and a tray appears, settling on a nearby flat rock: there are ten cups of steaming hot tea and a plate of cookies. The nearby logs suits fine as couches and Merlin starts to eagerly devour the cookies. It's not good because Arthur knows how hyperactive the boy gets after just a sniff of anything sugary, but the unfamiliar name distracts him from berating the servant.

"…Emrys?" Arthur says clearly not impressed. "You are mistaken, for there's no one by that name in our company."

The youngest of the druids (who's still old enough to be the prince's grandfather) looks first startled then almost offended. "He doesn't know! He doesn't know!" he cries upset and suddenly the druids gather around themselves in a small meeting, lowering their voices. They're clearly not at all happy.

"Maybe it was something you said," Gwaine suggests with a shrug. "Ah. This is good tea! Pity it's not ale though." With a strange whooshing sound the contents of the knight's cup glow and suddenly, it's full of beer. Gwaine grins pleased and takes a deep swig. "I'm really starting to like these guys!"

Merlin licks the remaining crumbs from his fingertips. This was good, much better than Gaius' cooking. Wonder if the druids could share the recipe? He glances at the prince sitting next to him. "So, what do they want?"

"They said something about Emrys – didn't you listen?" Arthur says.

"Oh. Right, that."

Though there's a slight blush he doesn't seem worried or anything, so Arthur assumes that this Emrys isn't a danger to them. If Merlin is relaxed, it means everything is fine. Or it could possibly mean something is about to go very, very wrong.

The druids part from their short meeting, sitting next to the knights again. "We're merely surprised," they said when Arthur asks. "We assumed you had been told of Emrys and the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Lancelot asks.

"Yes, of the Once and Future King."

Arthur's thoughts immediately come to the mind-stalking dragon beneath the castle in Camelot and he shifts uncomfortably. Not this again – not in front of the knights as well! He'll _never_  live it down.

"I know of it," he says slowly, "but I have never heard of this Emrys."

"No?" the first druid says. They've probably introduced each other, but Arthur can't recall they're names exactly, too distracted by the fact they know who they are and keep bowing to Merlin and stuff like that. This druid is quite tall with a funny beard. "The prophecy has been foreseen for generations and finally it's coming true. The Once and Future King shall rise, unite the lands of Albion and bring peace, prosperity and magic back to the kingdom with full harmony, with the aid of the Other Side of his Coin."

"No pressure," Gwaine grins.

"The Other Side of the Coin is Emrys, the most powerful warlock of all time."

"Wait, wasn't Me-" Arthur stops himself in the nick of time. No. No, it can't be…The druids are bowing and everything to Merlin because he's Emrys, the  _most powerful warlock ever_ (and isn't that a ridiculous thought!), because he's mentioned in a prophecy that apparently all magical people knows about, and the druids know about…the stuff the dragon has been bothering him about the last few weeks?

Oh god. How many more magical stalkers are they going to gain?

The druid has a strange glint in his eyes as he smiles, nodding knowingly. "Ah, I see Kilgarrah has spoken to you."

"Yes…briefly... However, if you have gathered us here to ask me to speak to the infernal creature again, I absolutely refuse!"

"We won't, so worry not," the druid says with a grin. "We assume Kilgarrah can bother you enough as it is."

"Who's Kilgarrah?" Lancelot asks curiously, leaning in, while taking another cookie from the plate.

"Don't ask," Arthur says, and at the same time, Merlin smiles wide and exclaims excitedly;

"He's the dragon beneath the castle! Want to see him?"

"Merlin, you idiot! Now look what you've done!" the prince shouts, point accusingly at the servant. "Do you want the creature to give us even more trouble by start introducing it to more people?"

"What?" Merlin blinks up at him innocently. "I'm sure he's very lonely down there, he wouldn't mind…"

"But  _I_  mind!"

"Oh-kay, but honestly, Arthur, I think it's only fair we let Kilgarrah meet them-"

"What? No!" As he speaks, Arthur's voice rises a pitch and grows stronger. "No, we will  _not_  let them meet the dragon and form strange underground associations where they discuss unicorns and swords and romantic stories about things the stupid creature has foreseen _, I will_ _ **not**_ _allow_ -"

As the two begin bickering (again), Gwaine turns to the druids who look startled, happy, shocked and pleased respectively. "They're like children, both of them; it's best to ignore them. So, Arthur's the Once and Future King, huh? I assume Emrys must be one of us."

"Well, it is not me, I am certain of it," Lancelot says at once. Percival nods in agreement.

"I agree; it's not me, and I  _highly_  doubt it's Gwaine who is Emrys. We possess no magic," Elyan says. "That leaves Merlin..."

The knights and the druids look at the bickering pair for a couple of minutes (they seem to have forgotten they're not alone; Merlin is calling Arthur a clotpole and Arthur calls him an idiot. Again).

"Are you sure you really want to trust those two to rule all of Albion?" Gwaine asks after a while, slightly doubtful, because Arthur is, well… he's Arthur, and Merlin always gets into trouble and is a bit too innocent more often than not and the two seem to bicker almost constantly. Sure, the two fit each other like a hand in a glove, but they might shorten each other's lifespan with worry. Or maybe they're a match made in heaven, and the prophecies must have some kind of truth in them if the druids trust them so much, having so much faith that Arthur and Merlin will bring prosperity and peace to the kingdom.

"They shall learn and grow. Their time is near, but not quite yet, so there's no need to panic. Also, they shall have the love of the people and aid of the Knights of the Round Table: they do not stand alone," the druid informs them which catches the knights' attention at once.

"Oh?" Gwaine asks. "Do those knights sit around a round table all day and sing and drink wine? In that case, I'm in. I mean – free drinks for everyone!" And he begins to hum a very strange melody, causing the others to share looks and shake heads; he can't be drunk already can he? "'We're the Knights of the Round Table, we dance when ere we're able! We do routines and chorus scenes, with footwork impeccable!'" Gwaine looks rather pleased with himself. "I came up with it myself!" he explains, and continues cheerfully: "'We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and spam a lot - We're the Knights of the Round Table!' C'mon, ain't it catchy? I like jam. Sweet. Not as much as ale though. Listen, I've got another line: 'We're the Knights of the Round Table, we see merthur kisses ere we're able!' That's even better, right!"

Lancelot gives the man an You're Really Unbelieveable-look.

Elyan makes a pained noise and begins to reach for his sword. The druids share his expression.

"I could knock him out," Percival offers helpfully.

On the other side of the now empty cookie tray, Merlin is ranting about destiny and the dragon and having it meeting Lancelot because the dragon's mentioned the knight(s) once or twice and It Might Be Important – and he's running out of arguments why people should be allowed to visit the great dragon, because most people would either run away or get turned into toast or be given useless crosswords and how the hell can it be everyone's destiny to meet the dragon? It just doesn't make any sense.

"Maybe you'd visit Camelot sometime, I mean, subtly - we don't want any beheadings," Gwaine suggests to the druids with a grin, having stopped singing now since Elyan has threatened to cut off some of his, err, most beloved body parts if he doesn't shut it."There's this great tavern I know and I want to know more about this Round Table."

Arthur has a feeling this will be a very,  _very_  long day.


	13. Get Into Fights Without Proper Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note: This was inspired by the opening scene of 4x05: His Father's Son._

His breaths comes in short gasps, his footsteps falling at an increasing pace: hurrying, running over the hill and down the western side and next to a brook; an arrow whizzes by barely missing him and his heartbeat speeds up, and he wonders wildly why he agreed to this plan in the first place.

To begin with Merlin couldn't believe they were serious. Honestly. He's managed them in the worst moments: during training when they're in awful moods and swears a lot he still makes sure they've got water and towels and other necessary things nearby.

Like when Gwaine's on another drunken escapade and needs Merlin's help to get out, or when they're walking and/or riding on pointless quests in heavy blasted rain through unmapped territory, Merlin tags along without turning back. When they're demanding more of soup when there's barely anything left, he obediently makes more. When they're arrogant and forget that half of them aren't noble-born and have no right to act as dollopheads, he reminds them of that and they apologize at once. When they're out hunting and stalking deer for hours without actually finding any, he goes with the,. When there are long boring council meetings and they for some reason wants him, the prince's manservant, to attend, he stands there obediently for hours ignoring his hurting feet …

The list could go on forever. All of these moments and  **a** **lot**  more has he endured. And we're not even mentioning the things he does for Prince Prat alone here.

But seriously. They're mad now, those bloody knights. Yes, indeed they are. "We need to lure them out somehow..." they'd said when hearing about the large group of Very Dangerous Strangely Smart Outlaws they're failed to catch for a month might be hiding in a cave near the boarder. And someone had gotten a  _brilliant_  idea and meant for their  _brilliant_  plan to work they need someone as bait: someone fast on his feet, brave, loyal and - what did they say again? Oh yeah - a bit  _foolish_.

Which was how Merlin had found himself ordered to dress in a knight's tunic, chainmail, a pair of fine boots and a long brilliantly red cape. He feels rather ridiculous and the chainmail's heavy (how was he supposed to run in that?), and though he dislikes admitting it, he's a bit uneasy. He's faced down evil sorcerers and beasts and tricky enchantments countless times but to be sent out there alone without weapon other than a short sword (just in case: nobody thinks he could really wield it though, but it's got to look realistic) and a too-big chainmail to protect him, it's not very nice. Yes, he's got his magic, but let's not speak too loud about that, it's not like he's proclaimed it to everyone in Camelot with a particular desire to be beheaded.

And Arthur has agreed to the stupid plan. A pat on the arm and a 'Good luck' can't make up to it. No way. How come Arthur never promotes him when he does things like this for the prat? Arthur's lucky Merlin likes him or he'd surely be a toad by a now. Definitely.

Then, Arthur had left half a mile northwest where he and his men would be waiting to ambush the Very Dangerous Strangely Smart Outlaws.

Very dangerous, screaming, sword-and-other-deadly-weapons-wielding outlaws that are now running behind him and gaining on him. Merlin forces himself to move faster. He's always been rather good at running, but the chainmail is wearing him down and the short sword keeps bumping into his thigh uncomfortably. The landscape rushes past in green and blue, no details: he can't focus on it. He can almost feel a rush of breath down his neck and he inhales sharply, almost afraid, and briefly his eyes glow gold making his steps a bit lighter, a bit faster, by a subtle rush of magic. Across the small brook, over the top of another hill, the grass long and dancing in the wind, the long red cloak fluttering behind him; he risks a glance over his shoulder.

The men are in hot pursuit and they're shouting and have weapons raised high. Their armours and clothes are dirty and patched, like they're almost out of resources, and their faces twisted in fury. They clearly think that he's a lone defenseless Camelot knight and if they catch him, they'll gladly shred him to little pieces.

It's not something Merlin looks forward to, to be honest.

The edge of the forest is nearing. He breaks into the foliage, jumps over a fallen log; just a couple of hundred meters left. His breath is heavier now, his steps shorter, blood rushing fast and hot through his veins. He reaches the creek between two high, mossy rocks with the men's angry cries almost right into his ear, another arrow is shot and buries in a tree right next to him, and he dashes up a short slope to stop. It's a dead-end.

And there's no sign of the knights. They can't have forgotten or be late can they? Can they?  _Where are they?_

Panic starts to rise. He turns around, eyes widening, and fumbles for the sword. The men are closing in and slow down at seeing that he's stopped running. The leader, a burly tall man with a gray beard and small dark eyes, smirks. There's a tooth missing. "Trapped."

Merlin takes half a step back and unsheathes the sword hanging at his side, breathing deeply. Okay. They're a dozen-something and he's just one. With the help of his magic, maybe he could …

It won't be easy to explain to the knights if they arrive and see he's somehow defeated all of the outlaws by himself (and without breaking a sweat either), but he rather likes living. The sword feels unfamiliar in his hand, a bit unsteady and strangely heavy, but he raises it in a defensive position.

"Up for a fight now, eh, boy?"

The three men at the front rushes up to him and Merlin readies his sword like he's watched Arthur do countless times and swallows hard - but when the men are mere inches away, there's a ringing sound like an arrow leaving the string and a shout of pain.

One of the men falls, pierced by a crossbow bolt. The sudden attack startles the thugs and they freeze and look around, confused; suddenly, the site is swarmed by red-cloaked knights on both sides of the creek.

"You are surrounded," a powerful, commanding voice rings out; "Lower your weapons!"

The leader growls a curse, certainly not giving up, and lunges forward. Merlin reacts in the nick of time, meeting the blow. The force of the impact travels up his arm like a shock, rattling his elbow, but he sets his jaw in determination and keeps the grip steady. The leader's movement sets the other men into motion: one of them takes aim and tries to shoot down a knight from the cliff, but gets hit in the chest by another bolt. The knights continue shooting at the thugs and begin making it down the creek. The outlaws seem to realize they've got nothing to lose and surges forward, toward Merlin, who's busy with trying to keep the leader's blade away. He mightn't be a good sword fighter but he hasn't forgotten everything Arthur's taught him during those awful hours of training. He remembers the basics of blocking and attacking, knows where to aim.

The opponent has no grace or calculation to the movements, just brute force, and Merlin is backed into a corner within seconds, he's not got the force to match. He's almost hit but moves back and knocks his shoulder on an outcropping rock in the mossy wall, and instead of severing his neck the other man's sword scratches the chainmail with a raspy sound, Merlin's heart lodging in his throat. The man growls and raises his weapon again for another blow; he can't keep this up, the man is just too strong. This isn't how Merlin thought it'd end, at the tip of sword because of the knights and their stupid ideas. His magic bubbles to the surface, ready to attack...

In that moment, something crashes into the burly man from above with a battle-cry, forcing the thug into the ground. The person, who seems to have fallen out of the skies, effectively renders target motionless with the impact and rolls gracefully to his feet, weapon at the ready, and Merlin drops both his magical attack and his sword both in surprise.

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaims at seeing the rescuer's face, heart leaping over a beat in joy, and then a sense of calmness falls over him. Like with Arthur there, at his side, it'll be all right and he doesn't have to worry. The warlock hurriedly picks up the sword again.

Arthur is already focused on the fighting and stands in front of the servant to meet the next opponent, ferociously. No one stands a chance against him. A fire burns in his face, and his face is red with fury.

The battle ends quickly, with the last three surviving outlaws surrendering and putting down their weapons, and Merlin is glad he's not had to kill or even hurt anyone, even though these men were madly chasing him over the hills, trying to kill him. He's never liked battles or killing. The knights cheer and pat each other on the back, including Merlin, who they all call very brave.

When the prisoners are being tied and secured onto horses, Arthur turns to Merlin. He sounds calm now, looks calm, not like the vicious warrior minutes ago. The change is dramatic, yet natural. "You all right?" he asks, sounding concerned.

"Yeah," Merlin says.

"I…I realize now I should not have sent you out there alone," Arthur says quietly, but honestly. As always when it comes to matters like these, he sound rather formal, but it's simply the way Arthur is and Merlin knows he truly means it. "For that I apologize. Will you forgive me?" The prince looks slightly like a kicked puppy and Merlin's hearts melts a little.

"Of course I do. I'm all right," Merlin assures him, because he is, if a bit out of breath and his feet tired. He looks down at his metal attire, not really comfortable in it. "But can I take this off now?"

Arthur's lips quirks upwards as he eyes the servant-come-knight intensely up and down and Merlin sees the gaze, the glint in the blue eyes, and squirms a bit. "Are you certain that's what you want,  _Mer_ lin? You do look quite catchy, you know."

Fighting a blush Merlin fumbles for a response. "Catchy enough to be followed by a gang of madmen who wanted to tear me apart, yeah."

"That's not what I meant," Arthur mutters and then breaks the gaze. A shadow of apprehension falls over his face. "You better keep it on until we reach Camelot, we might run into trouble."

Merlin starts to follow him up to the place where they've left the horses, grassy meadow not far away. "When  _don't_  we run into trouble, please tell," Merlin says with a groan. "But honestly, it's heavy and uncomfortable and I'm not a knight or anything, so why do I have to wear it? I could always make a protective enchantment if you're that worried about me..."

"Get used to it," the prince says, ignoring the protests. "Because you're going to wear it the rest of the journey. It'll ... protect you."

The servant makes an unhappy sound, grimacing. "Hey! That's no fair! I've already run half a mile in it!"

"Well, it's an order." Arthur unties the horses, which neigh happily at their masters' approach, and the prince hands Merlin one of the reins. "Stop pouting. ("I'm not pouting!") Besides, it rather suits you."

()()()

From that day on Arthur won't let the servant leave the city without a chainmail anymore – it sooths the prince's mind and lessen the chance of him getting a heart-attack out of worry; it keeps him, or at least helps to keep him, out of harm's way whenever the fool doesn't care for his own safety, which is almost all the time. And most often, Arthur makes Merlin wear the long cloak, because it's red and has the Pendragon insignia on it and it's a perfect way to claim that Merlin is his servant and no one else's without actually having to say it aloud.


	14. Forget Important Details Before Tournaments

It's another cloudless perfect sunny day. Another day full of chainmail-, helmet- and sword-polishing. Another big lot of foreign knights, and many of Camelot's own, and hordes of fans coming to crowd the streets. Another great tournament.

It's the fourth tournament since he first arrived in Camelot. Out of those four, only two could be considered normal, without any assignations or strange deaths or enchanted shields. And Merlin can only keep his fingers crossed that this tournament will have no abnormalities, hell-bent-on-revenge sorcerers/evil knights/badass people in general who wants Prince Arthur dead, because it'd be a nice change for Merlin to be able to stand in the sidelines and cheer for his prince rather than having to rush out and save his life every five minutes.

The prince stands still so that Merlin can put on his chainmail, fasten all clasps and lay the red cape over his shoulders. He's not talking much, but loudly opposes Merlin's statement that the prince is nervous, of course; he  _never_  gets nervous, because he's a Pendragon and Pendragons never get nervous, and Merlin's worried gaze or fidgeting hands does  _not_ make him any more nervous. Merlin's getting better at this, Arthur notices. He finishes dressing the prince in full armour in just a couple of minutes, a definite improvement. But Arthur gives him an impatient look as he steps away. "Aren't you forgetting something,  _Mer_ lin?"

"What?" The look grows sharper, the hint of a raised eyebrow. "Oh!" Merlin exclaims, realization dawning. He leans in and kisses the prince gently, murmuring, "Good luck." as their lips part, the prince's hand resting on his lower back.

Immediately Arthur looks pleased and calmer, more collected, and holds himself straighter, much like a warrior who knows he shall win the upcoming battle. Which he will. "That's better."

And with clear certainity, the prince hefts his sword and steps out of the tent, onto the area into the crowd's excited cheer, with Merlin's support at his back – he'll do everything to win and become champion this year. It's got nothing to do with Arthur's pride … or that he wants to impress Merlin. No really, it hasn't. Honestly.

()()()

After a week, Prince Arthur wins the tournament and is named champion for like the sixth or possibly seventh time in a row. Nobody seems surprised. Nor does anyone seem surprised when Prince Arthur has a small celebration of his own in his chambers with only his manservant as company, because it's the only company the prince really wants or needs. Well, maybe the rather mortified guard who is sent by the king to fetch the prince that next morning and catches a glimpse of the bed and said guard walks around permanently blushing for another week. But, other than that, nobody really minds.


	15. Ever Touch/Smell/Drink Wine Or Any Other Alcoholic Beverages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: Contains references to/is kind of a crossover chapter with Harry Potter and Doctor Who._

Merlin is a terrible lightweight. Arthur's always known that, but if he'd known just _how_  terrible Merlin is at holding his liquor, he  _never_  would have let the warlock come with him to the tavern.

It's a great occasion, of course, for the prince to come to the tavern. The knights come here at their weekly outings and Gwaine more often than that, but last Arthur was here it was when trying to find a wayward manservant (who wasn't there but had snuck out of the city to talk with that bothersome dragon again) three-something months ago. The tavern owner is naturally delighted with the royal guest and gives the knightly company cup after bottle after barrel of whatever they wish, since they have no problems with paying. Without hesitation, the prince orders the finest wine for them all, including Merlin who's probably never tasted anything like it.

They're celebrating the latest victory in war: well, Prince Arthur's victory, since king Uther managed to come to an agreement with the other king and they settled on a one-on-one duel instead of a full-scaled battle, and Arthur was chosen as Camelot's champion and had to face down some kind of growling giant. He won of course, since he's The Best Warrior Ever of Camelot™, and the knights had then convinced him to join them in the tavern, so that the citizens might personally congratulate him. It's a wonderful idea.

Well, until Merlin tags along – Merlin follows him everywhere, so why shouldn't he come with him to the tavern?

The trouble starts not with the wine but with the hiccoughs. Well, maybe with the wine since it's the cause of the hiccoughs. So it's the wine's fault. Merlin has no idea what his limit is, so he drinks and laughs and sings (over and over because sir Gareth pats his back beginning him to start a new song, and Arthur doesn't seem to like that and Merlin likes to annoy him), and somehow he get all dizzy and giddy and happy and don't mind Arthur's hand on his side to steady him, and then he hiccoughs.

Magic swirls up before he can stop it, buzzing through his veins and his eyes glow golden, it feels like someone is hooking his bellybutton and _pulls,_  and Merlin claps his hands over his mouth with a gasp.

"MERLIN!" Arthur is suddenly yelling at him, leaning in close in a threatening way. "What the hell did you do?"

"Err." He tries to look innocent like a cute lost little bunny. It's probably not working very well, judging by the prince's reaction. "I … I don't know…Um, sorry...?"

A long, wide street opens up before them. The pavement itself is made of a strange unfamiliar material, not quite like rock. There are lots and lots of people, all dressed in the strangest things, hurrying past them, like they're incredibly stressed. Some of them are talking into little boxes and there are carriages moving quickly – faster than any horse Arthur has seen – up and down the street without being pulled by any animal. And the sounds! Noise and voices and low humming and some kind of unnatural music,  _everywhere._ The buildings are a mixed variety of some normal looking stonework and some very, very tall things in metal and glass. It's incredibly overwhelming and they stumble backwards into someone who gives them an angry glare.

Arthur reacts like any startled warrior would and whips out his sword – he might have been on a tavern outing, but no wise man goes outside his chamber without his sword. The person they walked into is already gone. A bright green light (formed, oddly enough, like a walking man) on a black post right before them turns red, and the activity pauses momentarily on the side of the street that they're on, people crowding near the edge impatiently.

Merlin looks around equally confused but also incredibly fascinated, and he points and exclaims obvious stupid things like "Oh, look! No horses!" and "There must be giants in this city for the houses to be so big." and "Look, Arthur! In that window! There's a box with people  _trapped_  in it!" and "I'm a little dizzy, I don't think I feel so well." and leans quite heavily on the prince.

"What's this place?" Arthur wonders aloud. Then realization hits him. All things are moving almost like on automatic here, there are so many blinking colourful lights, not to mention how odd looking everyone is. This must be a city of sorcerers. How to tell if they're good or mean them harm? Unconsciously he pulls the drunken Merlin a bit closer.

People are starting to notice them now, turning heads. One of them closes in and says, "Nice costume, mate, very realistic," in a tone that Arthur suspects is mocking, and asks what show he's 'advertising' – the prince has an urge to challenge the man to a swordfight, but isn't sure if he should seeing the man carries no weapon, not even a dagger. Then a girl with _pink!_  hair ( _This really is a town of sorcerers_ , Arthur thinks) pulls out a strange black object from a bag, turns to them with the thing in front of her face and does something, because there's a clicking noise and a white flash of light and Arthur jumps backwards. "What's that?" he demands in his best authoritative I'm Prince Arthur And You'll Do As I Say-voice. "What did you do?"

The girl grins wide and chews on something pink, making a bubble, and she giggles and starts talking. She might be dangerous, so the prince keeps his distance, pulling Merlin securely behind him (the warlock is still blinking dazedly from the strange flash of light). "You two look so cute together!" she squeals, "Can I have your names? Your costume looks really cool, just like out of a movie!"

Arthur has no idea what a movie is and it's getting on his nerves that people assume he's dressed up like some stupid clown and no one seems to take him seriously. Have these people no respect for knights and soldiers, those who keep their lands safe? "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, this is my manservant Merlin and I demand you to tell us where we are!"

"Oh, you're an actor? That's so _cool_!" she exclaims excitedly. "Can I have your autograph? That'd be, like, awesome!"

The strange girl is too close for comfort now and Arthur grips his sword tighter, thinking what a weird dangerous place this is, hoping the girl isn't a sorceress who'll turn him into something unnatural if he says no, and then Merlin hiccoughs.

The street disappears in a swirl.

()()()

Suddenly, they're standing in the middle of a corridor. It's spacious and wide and doesn't look like any corridor in Camelot's castle, or any other castle where Arthur or Merlin has been before. It's beautifully decorated with lots and lots of colourful, moving paintings and at the end there's a stair which now and then moves, causing the horde of black-cloaked young people to groan in annoyance.

And then Arthur realizes with a start that the paintings are  _moving_ and from one, portraying a group of men in armour playing a dice gaming while sitting around a suspiciously familiar looking table, a cheery (also kind of frighteningly familiar) voice reaches his ears. "Oi, you there! I'ven't seen you for some thousand years! You haven't changed a bit, princess. Want to join? There's ale!"

The prince steps away from the strange painting with a bewildered look on his face. What's this? How can the colour on the canvas move and  _talk_? What enchantment ...? He freezes up suddenly, remembering the snakes on Valiant's shield. This can't be good. This must be very, very bad.

A group of these strange youths stop to look at the prince and manservant oddly. "Hi there," one of them says, a boy with wild dark hair and a zig-zag scar on his forehead. "I don't recognize you. You're not one a new professor, are you…?" The boy looks at the armoured stranger doubtfully. "What's with the chainmail and the sword?"

"I am no 'professor'," Arthur says, not completely certain what the term means, because if he's ever come across it before he cannot recall doing so. "I am a knight, of course I am armoured. What is this kingdom? My friend and I are, err, slightly lost. Could you please point the fastest way to Camelot?"

The youths look confused. "There's been no Camelot for at least a thousand years."

"It looks like you apparated here," a brunette girl exclaims. "But that's impossible! No one can apparate inside Hogwarts, everyone knows that." She goes on about some history and books and more history and finally magic and Arthur grips his sword tighter. "And you look like from the medieval times, but everyone knows timetravel would take an insane amount of energy, you'd have to make a rip in the fabric of time; no wizard or witch has ever been able to do it over such distances, I mean, only for a few hours or days at most-"

"Hermione," a redhead boy cuts in, "we didn't ask for a lecture! You aren't one of the teachers _,_  you know!"

"This is a school?" the prince says apprehensively.

"Yeah, for magic," the redhead says like it's the most obvious, natural thing in the world.

The idea seems insane and completely absurd, in Arthur's opinion.

The youngsters nod as one. "Yes, didn't you know? This is Hogwarts, a school for young Wizards and Witches. How  _can't_  you know if you used magic to get here?"

One of them pulls out a stick from their black robes and waves it around, making little sparks and Arthur continues to look doubtful, because waving a silly stick around isn't quite what he'd call magic. He has seen powerful (and not so powerful) sorcerers, sorceresses and the most powerful warlock of them all, and none of them have ever used silly sticks. "Like that," the student says with a smile, accomplished. "Magic."

"I was not the one wielding magic," Arthur says carefully, not remarking on how stupid it looks when they're waving stick around making sparkles, because if he does they surely  _will_ turn him into a toad. "I know not how to."

Merlin looks up now. He looks a bit ill, his face green. "Arthur, I'm  _really_  dizzy, the world's spinnin' like a cartwheel," he says and giggles. "Cartwheel!" The giggle turns into a whine almost of pain and he holds his head. "Oww. Can I sit down?" He notices the audience, and smiles and waves nervously. "Hi!"

"Okay, fine," Arthur says and eases the warlock onto the floor. "But hold onto me." If they somehow magically get tugged someplace else, he has to make sure the warlock's with him. Merlin obediently nods and hugs the prince's leg which is incredibly awkward with so many curious people looking and at the same time it's very reassuring, Merlin holding onto him, and the prince's face heats up.

"Is he okay?" another youth, or student as they call themselves, asks concernedly.

"Yeah, he'll be fine...He's merely slightly inebriated." Or a lot too much. Arthur wonders if, when they get back to the city, Gaius will drug him or something again for letting his ward get drunk. Gaius can be scary like that sometimes.

"But who are you and how did you get into Hogwarts if you didn't apparate?" the girl demands to know.

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot and that's my manservant, Merlin. I believe we got here through magic, but I am not certain as of how…"

"No way!" one of the boys exclaims and points at Merlin, for some reason, accusingly. "That can't be the Great Merlin! He can't have been a  _servant_!"

Arthur stares at the boy blankly.

"Merlin's beard!" another says. "It doesn't make sense!"

"Yeah, isn't he supposed to be an old man with a beard and Arthur the King?"

Arthur raises his eyebrows. Why would Merlin be an old man, and what would make him automatically king without beign something else, i.e. prince, first? And how does these people know about them anyway?

"Don't you see," the girl Hermione cuts in, "perhaps the Legends aren't completely right, and he was prince before coming to the throne; not pull the sword out of the stone without knowing of his heritage, and it might have known Merlin before meeting the Lady of the Lake. In fact, this book I came across two days ago says that-"

"Merlin's beard, Hermione," sighs the redhead. " _Please_. Just for five minutes, that's all."

Merlin giggles in a very unmanly way, still cuddling Arthur's leg. "I'ven't got a beard! Silly!"

"Merlin's saggy left buttock, I can't believe it! Merlin, for real, here in Hogwarts! We've got to tell everybody!" one of the students say eager and tugs his companion's sleeve. "Come on, let's fetch Fred and George, they won't believe this!"

" _Merlin's balls_ -"

Arthur clears his throat. "That's enough," he cuts in firmly in the kind of voice which would make even the toughest knight wince. Who are these strange people, and why are they thinking Merlin is an old man and swears by Merlin's name, and espeically in such a manner? It's horrendous, they should be ashamed of themselves! How dare they! There's absoluetly _nothing_  wrong with Merlin's backside, or any other part of his body! But since they are mere children, he doesn't throw his gauntlet by their feet, it wouldn't be fair and they seem so odd, there's no guarantee they know about challenges and fights.

He takes a deep breath to control himself. "If you just tell us how to get out of here…"

"…I'ven't got a beard, I'd look silly with a beard…wouldn't I, Arthur? Wouldn't I?" Merlin says from below and suddenly the warlock looks troubled and worried, biting his bottom lip and looking up at the prince with wide tearful eyes. "Ohmygod I'm gonna get old and have a beard and look ridiculous and everyone will remember me as an old man with a beard! Nooo! Arthur, Arthur, what am I gonna  _do_?" he whines, like a child who's just realized that Father Yuletide hasn't climbed down the chimney but it was the child's own parent who's hid the presents under the tree and Yuletide has been ruined. (And if that happens, Arthur's quite sure Merlin would be upset too, the childish adorable idiot.)

Merlin continues to look up at him anxiosuly, tugging at his trouser like a child who wants attention, his bottom lip wobbling.

Arthur's eyes widen.

Oh no. Nonono. The idiot's going to start crying now. Would it be justified if Arthur breaks the nose of the boy who said the thing about the beard? Have they  _any_  idea how sensitive Merlin is? It'll take  _hours_  for Arthur to calm him down!

"Merlin, it's going to be fine, and you don't look ridiculous with a beard, I promise," he says gently. "And you won't be remembered only as an old man, you idiot. Of course not."

"R-really?" the warlock sniffles, rubbing his nose with the sleeve his tunic, his eyes glazed. "You mean it, Arthur?"

"Of course," Arthur says and smiles at him a bit uncertainly, patting the warlock's head. Couldn't the idiot hiccough soon and get them out of here, before Arthur clambers through the strange castle with moving paintings with his sword held aloft and runs through whoever is the king of the bizarre place?

"Okay!" Merlin says brightly and hugs the prince's leg tightly. "You're my best friend, Arthur! My  _bestest_  friend!"

The remaining group of students look at the pair oddly. "I never thought the great Merlin was so ..."

"... Me neither ..."

"They look rather cute together, don't they though?" says one of the girls and all females seem to agree.

"We do not look 'cute'," Arthur protests loudly, sending them a glare which could make the bravest warrior quiver in his boots. "And we are not ... 'together' in the manner which you imply!"

The girls look disheartened at hearing that, except the brunette who narrows her eyes at them doubtfully.

Fortunately, Merlin hiccoughs just a few seconds later while in the middle of cutting the blood flow to Arthur's left foot and talk nonsense and say 'I love you' over an over which really warms Arthur's heart to hear, only he still is furious about those strange evil 'students' at 'hog warts' for making his Merlin upset and he's itching to use his sword. The world starts to swirl again with sounds and colours and the black clad youths fade away.

()()()

It's a box. In the middle of a forest. A tall, blue box. Arthur taps it with his sword, expecting a claning sound, not for the door to open: he jumps back in shock.

"Hello there, lads," says an odd man in a suit and bowtie as he steps out. "You seem quite lost. Can I help you?"

"Who are you?" Arthur demands to know.

"I'm the Doctor," the man says like it's obvious.

"I like butterflies," Merlin announces to nobody in particular.

The prince aims his sword at the man: he's not trusting anyone now. Especially not men dressed like that who are smiling creepily as they come out of blue boxes in the middle of nowhere. "Doctor who?"

"Exactly!"

Merlin is still strangling Arthur's leg. "I don't want a beard," he murmurs, sounding frightened and small and alone, and Arthur pats his head awkwardly. "I wanna go home, Arthur," Merlin whines, and hiccoughs.

()()()

When they appear again in the middle of the tavern, the music and laughing has stopped, everybody turns around to stare at them, food and drink forgotten; the knights rush up to them at once (except sir Bors who's asleep under one of the tables).

"Sire, what happened?" Lancelot asks worriedly, casting a glance at the half-laughing, half-sobbing warlock clinging to the prince's leg. "You suddenly vanished into thin air! There was no warning!"

"I…I shall explain later," Arthur says slowly. He glares at everyone who looks at them wrong and people turn awkwardly around and start talking, singing and laughing again. "I really need a drink. Something strong. The strongest you've got."

"What about Merlin, is he all right?" sir Gareth asks. "Should we…umm, dislodge him, sire?"

"It's fine; let the idiot calm down first." The prince accepts the cup the wide-eyed barman gives him and takes a big sip. He gives his man a warning look. "But, never  _ever_  mention beards around him, understand?" And he whispers the Word That Mustn't Be Named just in case Merlin's listening.

"Yes, sire," the knights replies dutifully though confused. "May we enquire as to why?"

Arthur glances down at his warlock, then shakes his head. "It doesn't really matter. No. It was only very strange."

"So, what happened then?"

"I think we came to a land of sorcerers. They were speaking into little boxes, and rode in carriages without horses. Then we came to this place full of students who waved sticks around and called themselves wizards and witches. Apparently they all knew about Merlin, like he was a legend or something equally stupid."

The knights share a dumbfounded look.

"And then there's this man, living in a blue box. It was all very strange."

"How very odd," sir Leon agrees. "Another pint, sire?"

Arthur downs it in one go.

Merlin keeps clinging to his leg until he falls asleep and Arthur can pry his arms off (the grip surprisingly strong) and can carry the unconscious manservant to his chambers. The look on Gaius face, as the prince arrives on his doorstep with a peacefully Merlin asleep in his arms and half of the knights crowding behind him, is priceless.

()()()

As he wakes up the following morning, the sun is far too bright and stings terribly in his eyes, the world is too noisy and loud and he clamps his hands over his face as if it would make it all go away. The headache is  _awful_ , like he's spent the night in the smithery where someone's used his head as anvil.

"Good morning, Merlin. How's your head?"

"Urgh, it huuurts."

"I can imagine, with all the wine and the magic you used last night," Gaius says, walking up and putting something on the bedside table. "Here, I've got this potion for you, it should take away the worst pain. I am incredibly curious however to know if you remember anything. Prince Arthur told quite a tale, about a strange city of metal and glass, a man with a blue box and a school, Hog the Warts I think it was called, of  _magic_  - of all things. Such a peculiar name…"

The memories suddenly flare up, although foggy, and Merlin giggles. "Hogwarts. Yeah! They were kinda funny, but they didn't make any sense...and their paintings moved, Gaius, moved like the people on them were real! And the stairs kept changing direction! I wonder if they were angry or bored or something. And this girl, she asked for an autograph! From Arthur. What's an autograph, Gaius?" He giggles some more, burying his face in the pillow, muffling the sound. "And the students said they're magic but they didn't show me any magic, oh I'd liked to've learned a new spell! But then they, like, said my name a lot, like they knew me for some reason which doesn't make any sense, and it upset Arthur. Yeah. He seemed quite upset. Like he'd been insulted or was about too lose a tournament. Not that he ever loses... What'd they say again? …I can't remember…Something about…yeah, my beard!" Another bout of laughter. "Imagine, Gaius, me, with a _beard_!"

"Perhaps you would prefer a sleeping draught?" the physician suggested, causing Merlin to yawn, maybe it was the word sleep that affected him like that, or all the giggling.

"Yeeah…And a  _beard_ …Arthur said I'd not look silly with a beard…I think he likes me with a beard! Which is weird.  _Wieeerd_. I need to tell him I won't have a beard, it's ridiculous," Merlin continues to ramble through the pillow. "I don't need a beard 'cause I'm awesome."

Gaius sends him the Eyebrow Look, clearly not very impressed with his ward's behavior. "I'll tell Prince Arthur you'll be sleeping off your hangover and are unable to work for him today."

With a laugh Merlin falls back on the bed, liking the sound of  _finally_  getting a lie-in. "... Gaius, I'm think I'm going to be famous!"


	16. Go Outside Camelot Unescorted

There's no wood sorrel left in Gaius' stores and Merlin has just run out of duties for Arthur, so the court physician – too old to do it himself; his back aching terribly, he complains – pushes a basket into an indignant Merlin's hands and sends him out to gather more. With a sigh, Merlin does as he's told, well, after Gaius promises there'll be chicken for dinner once he's back.

Of course, this particular herb grows two hours' ride from Camelot, and he can only hope that Arthur doesn't come up with a whole list of new tedious chores he has to catch up with as soon as he returns.

Actually, gathering herbs is quite nice. It's calming; he can think and reflect unhurriedly, away from the stress back in Camelot, away from all demands: he can do things at his own pace, without lots of scrutinizing eyes on him all the time. He also gets a chance to use his magic a little, unseen and unheard. Merlin locates the now rather familiar plant easily enough, dismounts and fastens his horse by a nearby tree so that the mare can graze the grass unhurriedly, and starts picking while humming a song his mother taught him as a child. The forest is peaceful, birds a chirping – it's unusual to meet anyone here, part for the odd traveler, as this is quite near a road crossing.

Except today when he hears footfalls behind him and looks up, surprised, he doesn't see an ordinary, friendly traveler, but a group of rough-looking men (some in worn, rusty broken chainmail) and one of them is holding an axe very visibly in front of him, smirking widely, and before Merlin can react or cry out one of them leaps forward, striking the back of his head, and the servant falls into blackness.

()()()

When the ransom letter arrives, the whole court is shocked into stillness. Then there are angry mutterings and curious glances ('How has this happened?' and 'How can the bandits know that the boy is the prince's manservant?' and most of all, 'Should he be rescued?') and endless movement, nobody in accord, because whereas the king is calmly stating they will not pay such a large sum demanded, or any sum, for a mere  _servant_ , the prince seems like he might explode. Yet, his face is set in stone, jaw tense. There's a cold air of fury about him that's terrifying to witness, and none but the king dares look him in the eye.

The knights understand at once. Sir Leon, who is at best foot with the king, is the one who agrees with Arthur's protests, saying that the kidnapped servant carries valuable information that the bandits shouldn't know about; that Merlin deserves to be saved, to live; that Merlin is  _important_ , but neither Uther nor the old grubby councilors will listen. In the end the knights and prince must give in, bow and apologize, but once the meeting is over they gather in the corridor, the knights' anxious faces turning to the prince: they'll take his orders without question.

"We ride tonight, two hours before nightfall. I'll make sure we are let through the gates without fuss," Arthur murmurs once the meeting is over, his hands clenched into tight fists, his jaw set. Wordlessly, the knights nod. Sir Gareth considers putting a hand on his shoulder, a calming gesture, but refrains at seeing the tenseness of the prince's frame, like a bowstring; Arthur would only shrug the hand away.

As Arthur is in his chambers packing, his heart aches with longing of mindless chatter and wonderful smiles, and at the same time his chest cramping with pure anger; there's a knock on the door and he hopes for a moment that it'll be Merlin who comes in, chipper and carefree and happy, but as he lifts his gaze he's greeted by Morgana's somber face.

"If you're going to try and stop me, or tell my father about this-" he begins heatedly, but she interrupts him calmly.

"I won't, Arthur. I understand. Merlin is dear to all of us."

He exhales heavily, breathing through his nose. He doesn't apologize for shouting at her: he can't, not yet, not until he knows that Merlin is safe.

Morgana seems to understand. "Bring him home," she says, and Arthur has no other intent.

()()()

Finding the clearing where the letter states the bandits will meet them takes them less than an hour, there are traces, broken branches and finally, the smell of smoke, a campfire: but Arthur's eyesight feel strangely sharp, his senses heightened. At the slightest rustle he'll turn around with his sword steady in his hand.

His chest is burning, a steady fire, quiet but ominous. He shares few words with the knights. He simply cannot speak; if he does, he might crumble, all defenses crashing down, unable to get up again.

The bandits, a dozen of them visible, are mostly masked. Five are armed with crossbows, the rest with swords and Arthur senses, although he cannot see them, at least half a dozen more thugs hiding among the trees.

And then he sees Merlin.

Arthur's chest tightens, the flame rising higher, his breath sharp, hitching in his throat. Merlin, who is pale and has a red gash across his cheek, looks up at him with eyes wide in surprise. Something twists painfully in Arthur's stomach at receiving that look. Almost like fear. Did he think Arthur would abandon him? Has Merlin so little faith in him?

Arthur struggles to keep focus and not simply draw his sword and run the nearest bandit through.

"All right, hand the money over," grunts one of the thugs. He's holding Merlin by the scruff of his neck, a knife dangerously close to the skin. A warning: one step wrong and they'll cut his throat. Arthur nods silently, and two of the knights (no weapons visible) starts walking over calmly, a small chest between them. The bandits' eyes seem glued onto it. Leon and Percival place it on the ground two feet away from Merlin, close enough to hear the sound his nervous breathing, and they glance at him with a slight affirmative nod. The warlock stares back fearfully, disbelieving. Arthur can almost hear Merlin's chiding voice in his head:  _'What are you doing, you dollophead, why the hell are you giving them that?'_

One of the bandits step forward and opens the chest, smirking wide at seeing the contents gleam silver and gold in the torchlight. Satisfied he grabs it and steps back, and finally, finally Merlin is brought forward. His hands are bound, Arthur now notices, his wrists raw. His clothes are torn and dirty. As he's pushed in the knights' direction, Arthur stops thinking and rushes forward to catch him. Merlin trembles in his arms, and whispers something that sounds like an apology – Arthur wants to shake him and yell at him, tell him it's not his fault. He wants to shout at him to be more careful, damn it! and never do something so stupid; he has to defend himself if he's attacked! But Arthur doesn't do it. Merlin is clearly afraid and needs safety, reassurance; the prince holds him to his chest ignoring they're being looked at, murmuring that he's safe now, while sharing a glance with the knights. A nod. There's the same ire on their faces.

They linger on the same spot for a few minutes after the bandits have withdrawn southeast. Arthur gently undoes the bindings on Merlin's wrists and helps him onto his horse; the servant's legs are a bit wobbly, and he hisses in pain as the prince's hand presses against his back, clearly there must be a wound there. There's a flash behind his eyelids: Merlin, pale and bleeding lying in a still pile on the forest floor, surrounded by dark shadows who are laughing at him. The imagine disappears as he blinks, but Arthur has little self-restraint left now and inside he's boiling. Those damned foul thugs  _hurt_ _ **his**_ _Merlin_. They have to pay – he can't let them just walk away. He can't.  _He can't…_

Merlin is worrying his lower lip again. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he mumbles, "I really am. I didn't think that - not while I was just gathering herbs! I'm sorry."

"I know. Hold onto the reins." The servant obeys, holding onto them tightly, knuckles whitening. The steed neighs impatiently.

Arthur can't bear himself to meet Merlin's gaze yet. He doesn't want the innocent warlock to see his soul, bare with emotions so foul and strong.

"Sire," sir Bors murmur and the prince nods in his direction.

"I'm taking him back to Camelot."

"We'll meet you there later, sire."

They part ways: the prince mounting behind Merlin, wrapping a warm arm securely around his waist, knights following the trail the bandits have left behind. As he realizes what's going on, the servant turns his head to look at him disbelievingly. "Arthur, they've let me go. I'm fine. You don't have to-"

"I know. But they have broken our laws, they…They  _hurt_   _you_ , Merlin. They'll be taken to Camelot for trial, I'm not going to have them killed out of cold blood." Making that decision wasn't easy, forcing him to rein his emotions: but he's not a cruel man, and he fears Merlin's reaction if he does otherwise, because Merlin is so goodhearted he wouldn't ever wish his captors death or even pain.

Arthur kicks the horse's sides, urging him into a gentle trot; it's obvious Merlin is in discomfort and the prince doesn't want to cause him any more pain. "Did – are you hurt?" he asks, quietly. It's a fear deep in his stomach which is difficult to voice, he almost doesn't dare ask, but he has to know. There doesn't appear to be any signs, Merlin isn't in tears, though he seems shaken, but Arthur must know. The tears might come later, like a flood, and Arthur holds him tighter. The servant leans into the protective embrace.

"Just a couple of bruises and scratches. And my right wrist," Merlin admits quietly. "It aches."

The prince gently reaches for the wrist, takes it in his hand; it's covered with bruises. "Can you move your hand, your fingers?"

"Yeah, but it hurts."

"Be careful, try to be still," Arthur advises. "It might be sprained; I'm not taking any chances. Gaius is waiting to examine you once we're back in Camelot."

Merlin nods tiredly, surprisingly not protesting.

"Did any of them…did they…" Arthur swallows harshly, blood cold. "Did any of them...did they touch you?"

Merlin stares at him bewildered and scared and shakes his head.

Arthur exhales deeply. They haven't...Thank god. Thank god. But Merlin is still covered with bruises and scratches and there are bloodstains on his clothing, and Arthur will never forgive those who did this, never. The memory will forever be burned into his mind, his eyelids, and for months to come he'll see it all over again every time he closes his eyes, his sleep uneasy, and he'll spend restless hours sitting by the servant's bedside, unable to go, leave his side for a single minute.

"I'm all right," Merlin murmurs, sensing the man's distress.

"I'll be the judge of that," the prince replies and that's final. He wraps an arm around Merlin, presses him close to his chest, and holds him there; he can't get close enough. Can't get close enough to know that Merlin really is here now and nothing will take him away from Arthur. Nothing.

"... Arthur," Merlin says after a pause, and glances at him. Arthur could drown in those blue eyes, and it takes a moment to focus on Merlin's soft voice, barely registering he's being addressed. When he does, Arthur notices that Merlin's smiling slightly, and it's a wonderful beautiful smile that Arthur loves, and he's so grateful he can see that smile again. "Thank you."


	17. Go About Not Wearing a Neckerchief

"Merlin, hurry up. You're going to be late."

"I can't find it!" Merlin sounds much stressed, and when Gaius steps inside the room yelling at him to hurry lest he wants the prince to put the servant in the stocks again, the boy looks at him panicked, arms flailing. "I can't find it anywhere!"

"What can't you find?"

"My neckerchiefs!  _Any_  of them! They're - they're all  _gone_!"

"Merlin," the physician says calmly, "it's just a piece of cloth."

"But I need them!" Merlin cries, while lifting another box to see if its beneath it (nope) and then tearing it open, digging through the contents (not there either), and stares around wide-eyed realizing he's turned the whole room upside down and  _still_  not found the precious item. Then he turns to the physician with pleading eyes, an upset expression on his face. "Gaius, you've got to help me find them, at least one of them!  _Please_!"

Gaius can't really see what the big fuss is about. He's not seen his nephew without that red or occasionally blue fabric around his neck before, but it can hardly matter, can it, a simple piece of cloth. "You must be with the prince  _now,_  Merlin; the council meeting begins in five minutes, and you can hardly keep the king waiting."

"I know, but just, maybe if I look-"

_"Merlin."_

"All right, all right, I'm going!"

()()()

Arthur.

Is not impressed.

He's dressed, his hair is combed, his chambers are a mess (wardrobe wide open, various items of clothing thrown about the room and onto the unmade bed) and the table is full of half-eaten dishes, dirty plates and cups.  _So he's had breakfast then_ , Merlin thinks with slight relief.  _And his shirt_   _isn't inside out._

"You're. Late. By two _. Hours_!" The prince strides over, his voice taking on a dangerous low I'm-going-to-give-you-a-slow-painful-death-unless-you-give-me-a-good-explanation-right- _now_  tone, which makes even Merlin, who is used to and has developed a defense to Arthur's various moods, wince. "Look at the state of this room! I had to dress and fetch my own breakfast, because no servant was nearby, and I couldn't find that red jacket. Where the hell have you been!"

"I'm sorry!"

"As you should be," the prince growls. "My father could have you thrown in the dungeons if we're late. And lord Gothfrid as well, should he feel insulted!"

"I'm _terribly_  sorry," Merlin says, again, vehemently, "but I was looking for something, and didn't realize the time - it won't happen again!"

"Looking for what?" Arthur asks, eyes narrowing and he actually turns to look at the servant. His breath lodges in his throat.

_Oh._

So that's what...

Merlin isn't wearing a neckerchief. It's strange, Arthur realizes, he's never seen Merlin without a neckerchief before. He's always insisting on wearing one of those old, ragged things, blue or red. And, he realizes too, it's partly a good thing because Merlin without a neckerchief is bound to be quite ... distracting. He doesn't look bad - no, not at all - his neck long and pale and Arthur is hit by a sudden urge to kiss and taste it, and maybe some other things as well which he  _shouldn't_  right now - Merlin tilts his head looking at him oddly, the hint of a frown on his face.

Arthur jerks his gaze away from the manservant's neck at Merlin's voice.

"Arthur? Aren't we in a hurry for that meeting?"

()()()

The meeting is very, very important. And tedious. And quite pointless. It's been three and a half hours and they seem to have gotten nowhere. Councilors, Arthur concludes, can be very adamant about taxes. It's difficult to keep his focus up and keep down any sign of wavering attention or fatigue.

Not to mention the Merlin factor. The boy is very ... distracting. Normally, Merlin is anyway, with his untimely yawning and lack of respect and his gorgeous kissable lips smacking when he's bored and his wonderful blue eyes rolling skywards when someone at the table says something stupid and other little things like that which keeps Arthur glancing at him more than he should. But this,  _this is..._

Arthur can't stop himself from looking.

He blames it on the neckerchief. Yes. Definitely. Or rather, the  _lack_  of the neckerchief. The long graceful neck, the smooth pale skin, the very visible Adam's apple which moves as the boy swallows or yawns. All of it exposed and bare, all of which Arthur keep ...  _looking at_. And what's worse, he's not the only one.

If he's not looking at his manservant, or trying (and failing horribly) to concentrate on what his father is saying, the prince takes his time glaring at every other person present. Most of them wince and seem to get the idea and avert their eyes from the manservant. Others are a bit slow, like one of the knights, who gaze lovingly (with some  _sickening_  lots of winking) at Merlin, and said servant, sensing the gaze, smiles nervously back.

Honestly.

It's annoying. Disturbing. Infuriating. Incredibly so. Distracting. Has he said infuriating? Merlin shouldn't smile back at that stupid man, because he's  _Arthur's_  manservant, no one else's! There might be an unspoken "look but don't touch" policy around, but Arthur really wants to edit that to "don't look, don't touch". Oh, damn this stupid council! And the stupid missing neckerchief! And Merlin's long, beautiful neck ... - Argh damn it, he promised himself to stop thinking about that!

But since it's a  _very important_  meeting, Arthur can't speak a word about that or send away the boy to mock out the stables or something, anything but linger here; the king is speaking to Lord Gothfrid about the tax income from the outlying villages and everyone is obliged to listen very carefully.

()()()

For the sixth or seventh time, Merlin fails to stifle a yawn. He's trying to discreet, biting his lip or hiding it beneath his hand, but he's sure it hasn't gone unnoticed because Arthur gives him a sharp, intense look, as does a couple of the councilors and that knight (has the latter something stuck in his eye, a fly or something? Merlin wonders. Because he blinks a lot).

The servant tries to look apologetic and struggles to keep the next yawn down. But honestly,  _why_  is he even here? Why can't Arthur have given him some other chore? Or he could have a lie-in. That'd be wonderful. Standing here next to the prince's chair is incredibly boring - at least they could've allowed him to sit down! He's the only servant here, Merlin notices absently. Even the King's horde of servants isn't present.  _Lucky them,_  he thinks, wondering if they have time off or if they have been given other work to do. At least they can't be as totally bored as he is now.

Nothing can be more boring than this. Boringer...Is that a word? He could make it a word. Boringer. This is more boringer than boring. Boring boringer boringest.

He stifles a giggle, turning it more into a short quiet snort.

Arthur glances at him again, and Merlin bites his lip. He's pretty sure the prince is mentally chiding him and calling him an idiot or something. Yeah, of course, and as soon as this is over he's going to get berated for being so disrespectful and reinforcing the court's general belief that Merlin has some kind of mental affliction. Giggling at nothing. Or worse, snorting at the King's speech. He's bound to be in trouble for that for sure.

Merlin can't understand what's so difficult about deciding on taxes. Last time this kind of meeting was held some three months ago, there was little to no effect afterwards; now they're saying almost exactly the same things as then.

Although, it's not  _exactly_  like then.

Back then the men didn't ...  _look_  at him that much. No one actually seems to listen to the King, even the most loyal councilors, and instead keep _looking_  at the servant. Including Arthur, more than once. Merlin is used to be ignored or sometimes glared at, but these looks are strange, intense, there's something else behind the irises. Almost like they're all famished and he is a juicy steak or a full-course meal laid out before them.

It causes Merlin to blush suddenly, strongly, as the thought hits him, and he wants to hide his face in his hands or at least his neckerchief. But since he can't raise the former without getting  _more_  attention and doesn't wear the latter, he can just stand there and hope nobody's noticed. Speaking of the neckerchief, it's strange and slightly uncomfortable to not wear it. He's not used to it. And he's got nothing to fidget with when he's being watched, which makes him  _more_  the nervous.

The knight is winking at him again. Merlin doesn't know him that well, he's new; arrived at the city not even a month ago. Sir Murchadh, son of some northern lord. He's quite nice, and talks with an unfamiliar accent; he says his father was from the Kingdom of the Picts far up north and he's got lots of tales about that land, which Merlin finds fun to listen to. He's always loved stories. Sir Murchadh is quite a good storyteller, very vivid in both voice and motions. Absently Merlin wonders if he could ask the Knight after training today if he could tell him another, maybe that one about the beast in the lake; that's be wonderful. Maybe he could ask the knight to tell it to Arthur too, he's sure the prince would enjoy it even if he always says that stories are childish and silly and only children listen to them, saying something about the line of " _Princes and knights have better things to do, do your job instead of listening to those silly things,_   _ **Mer**_ _lin, blah blah blah_..."

Someone nudges his side with an elbow. Merlin looks up to see people stand and scatter, some gathering in small groups for a chat, others leaving the room for a breath of fresh air.

"It's a break," Arthur mutters, and sighs, sagging in his chair. "Finally. Merlin, I won't be needing you here anymore. Go and...clean my chambers. Scrub the floors. Or something. And _stay there_. The meeting should be over by lunchtime."

Merlin nods, thankful that soon he'll be able to rest his feet. The prince's request for him to stay in the chambers is a bit odd, but maybe by then Arthur will be too bored out of his mind to come up with any more duties for him and he'll be allowed to go home and rest. Sleep sound kind of nice...and he'll have time to search for his missing neckerchiefs.

"Yes, sire."

The prince glances at him as he leaves. Well, stares. At his neck. Merlin glances back at the prince slightly bewildered, he's not seen  _that_  kind of look of Arthur's face before...

He tries not to think about it. Should he think about it?

He does, for a short moment, but blushes horribly. No, it's better not to think about it.

()()()

Only, he doesn't get the chance to rest his feet. While walking through the corridor, he runs into sir Murchadh, and the knight smiles wide almost dazzling him and lays a hand on Merlin's elbow. The servant feels a bit uncomfortable about that. "Merlin," he says delightedly. His gaze isn't directly focused on Merlin's face, Merlin notices, more southward. "Are you leaving the meeting?"

"The prince wants me to clean his chambers, sir," Merlin says respectfully, reminding himself in the last minute the man is still a knight.

"Oh." Sir Murchadh sounds a bit disappointed. He's not talking to him at eye-level, which is odd to Merlin. Nobody this far has actually talked to him at eye-level. What was up with not looking him into the eye? It's getting quite annoying. "I hoped I'd be able to ... talk with you," the knight continues. "Someplace private...It won't take long..."

"Err, I'm not sure," Merlin says uncertainly, glancing at the wide doors beyond which Arthur was. Would the prat get into an awful mood if he took a detour to the prince's chambers?

The knight still hasn't let go of his elbow. And he keeps looking below his jaw-line ... It strikes Merlin as very odd. "Perhaps we could see each other later then?" sir Murchadh suggests. "We should meet at the tavern. It'll be my treat."

Merlin looks at him surprised. "That sound nice," he says but still hesitates, thinking about his low tolerance for alcohol and how he reacted last time in the tavern; he's been skittish about them for weeks all since the hiccough-accident. But he could only eat and talk and listen to the knight's stories, and stay away from the drinks: it'd be fine then, wouldn't it? He really wants to hear that story again. "I'll just have to check with Arthur if I could maybe take tonight off-"

Which is when Arthur conveniently steps into the corridor, sees them and freezes on the spot. A shadow crosses his face, turning into a frown and then he jerks into motion, speaking up at the same time. "Merlin, aren't you supposed to be at my chambers?"

"Yes, no, I mean - yes, but Murchadh-"

"Aren't you supposed to be at my chambers  _right now_?"

Something in the tone strikes the knight as - well, there's  _something_  about it, and sir Murchadh looks between master and servant with a look of realization dawning on his face. Immediately he lets go of the elbow, jumping back, the expression on his face that of a man who's just been caught stealing from the royal kitchens by the head cook.

Merlin remains oblivious to the knight's reaction.

"...Yes."

The prince glares at him. Or more like his neck, not at his face. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"Oh, I was just talking with Murch-"

"-And not doing your job."

"Err...yes?"

Arthur  _still_  isn't talking to him at eye-level. Self-consciously Merlin brings up a hand to touch his neck while he speaks, and narrows his eyes slightly at the prince's sudden sharp intake of breath.

"Well then," Arthur says firmly, steadily, with the hint of a raised eyebrow; not a trace of the waver which was there a moment ago. But he has to avert his eyes momentarily from the sight of Merlin's long fingers sprawled across the milky white skin of his throat –it's terribly distracting. "Go on. Or would you prefer the stocks? I'm sure the people miss having someone to pelt rotten fruit at."

Merlin pouts just slightly (never admitting it, of course), then sighs. "Fine. I'll go and wash your royal socks,  _sire_ ," he says, before sprinting off in the direction of the prince's chambers.

Sir Murchadh has slowly but steadily moved away from Merlin's side, as far as possible, because he recognizes the glint in the prince's eyes: it's the one which Arthur has in single combat when just about to maim you, and you both know he's going to totally win and smash you to bits. It's a look to fear. So the knight does what any wise man would do. "Err, I shall have to excuse myself, sire..."

"Of course."

The manservant totally misses the accomplished smirk on Arthur's face as the knight takes his leave.

()()()

"... Does anyone have anything to add?"

Silence.

"Then let us have a breather."

King Uther can practically  _see_  the gathered's relief ripple through the room like a wave. He's observant and not stupid, and he's seen how everyone's attention has appeared to waver today. It's that servant, the prince's manservant. Standing in the corner, near the prince's chair. A very disrespectful boy, though he has his moments, the king reflects. The boy always seems to throw himself into trouble and speak and act when he shouldn't, drawing so much attention to himself. There's something about him though: something the king cannot quite determine what it is. A sort of charm. Today especially king Uther has noticed this charm, like a magnet he's been drawn to the boy and been unable to fully look away.

 _I wonder if the boy will decide to not wear that distasteful thing around his neck again,_ Uther thinks, as the council members file out of the room, including his son _. I'd have to object merely for the sake of this council. Perhaps I ought to refuse to let him in here anymore. He's too much a distraction for anyone to make any proper decisions._

()()()

"Uhm, any particular reason you've given me this?" Merlin asks curiously as he's handed a piece of cloth.

"Not really. Merely a ... precautionary measure."

"Err - what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just keep it on during the hours of the day, it'll be fine."

"It's  _green,"_  Merlin says in wonder, tying it around his neck, causing a very tense Arthur to finally (after eight  _hours_ of mental torture) relax his shoulders. "I've never worn that colour before."

Arthur looks at him critically. Closely. For a long while. Merlin wonders if the prat is starting to get a headache from thinking, when he suddenly speaks up.

"You look better without it," Arthur declares. "Take it off."

Merlin sighs in annoyance. He never should've told him he'd completely lost all of his neckerchiefs, just kept quiet and silently magicked up a new one, or something.

"All right. Fine. Can I go now? I'm tired." He gestures at the door, green neckerchief in one hand.

Typically, Arthur isn't looking at his face again.

"Arthur, I'm up here..."

"Hmm. Come over here."

Hesitantly, Merlin approaches, a bit wary since Arthur's been acting odd all day. Then he gasps in surprise when the prince grabs him, pulls him close and kisses his neck. He does other things too with his tongue and mouth which makes Merlin's knees weak, and he shivers and would've fallen into a boneless heap if not for the arms around his waist.

As he pulls back, the prince looks pleased. "I really wanted to do that." Then, he thrusts the green neckerchief back at Merlin, ordering him to put it back on. "Wouldn't want people to get any ideas," Arthur says, while tying the piece of cloth back on since the warlock doesn't respond.

Merlin isn't feeling very coherent, still in a daze from being touched like that.

()()()

Next morning, Merlin discovers there's a tender red love-bite right there on his neck, and is very glad for that green neckerchief despite the odd colour. He  _never_  wants to imagine the awkward talk with Gaius if the court physician sees that particular mark.  _Or_  gets to know the fact that he spent a whole night in Arthur's bed. A thought, which makes him blush.

"Where have you been? You didn't come back last night."

Merlin stares awkwardly down at the lumpy porridge which is breakfast.

"I. Uhm. Went to get a new neckerchief."

For some reason, Gaius doesn't seem to believe him.


	18. Turn People "Accidentally" Into Animals (or Do Must-Concentrate-On Magical Experiments When He Should Focus On the Prince)

One of the more annoying perks of being Court Sorcerer (the position might be unofficial, but the principle's still the same) is that, since more people know of his gift, they all want towitnessandknow of _everything_ he does. Watch. Listen. Be there when he uses magic, because it's "Awesome" (in Gwaine's opinion), "Incredibly fascinating" (in Lancelot's opinion), and "So beautiful, so  _pretty!_ It reminds me so much about you! Not that it wouldn't, or that you're pretty - well you are! I mean you aren't - no, wait! I mean you're so  _adorable_ I just want to pinch your cheeks and hug you! Wait - I mean like, not like that - I just should've stopped when I said 'beautiful' shouldn't I?..." (in Gwen's opinion)

And, finally, in  _Arthur's_  opinion: "It's dangerous since you're so accident prone, and you will likely do something stupid, like poison/injure yourself or conjure up a damn unicorn  _again_. So I better be here keep an eye on you."

Being the prince, used to get things as he wants them to be, Arthur deems his opinion on these matters to mean a lot more than Merlin's. Nevermind that Merlin is a warlock and knows more about magic than him. At least when Merlin protests and says that he'll be fine and  _won't_  conjure up unicorns. The prince insists - naturally - on 'keeping an eye on him'.

So for the whole afternoon - while Merlin is trying to learn and use a particularly tricky spell and brew a complicated potion to heal broken bones - Arthur constantly hovers on his shoulder.  _All_ of the time. And if Arthur has to fetch food or something else which requires him to leave the room, he lets Gaius take his place. Then he's back, minutes later, persistently refusing to move.

And he talks, points and asks a  _lot_  of stupid questions and remarks things like "Now the brew is blue - does that mean anything?" and "That's just a lot of stupid gibberish," while trying (and failing) to understand a text in the Language of the Old Religion, and "I thought this'd be interesting, but it's so boring, it beats even council meetings in its ability to numb the mind" (he's lying about that last bit, of course, but won't admit it because he's such a prat). Interestingly enough he won't answer why (if it's so _boring)_  he doesn't want to leave in the first place.

And since he's the Prince Prat, even if Merlin swears and waves his hands and insults him and kicks his shin forcefully and conjures buckets of cold water to empty over the prince's head, Arthur won't just leave him alone.

"Is the smoke supposed to make shapes like that?" he asks and points.

"Arthur, I'm trying to  _concentrate_!"

The prince peers closely into the cauldron which Merlin transfers from one table to the other, to mix it with something. "It's really hot now, be careful or you'll drop it."

"Go away or I'll drop it  _on_   _you_ , dollophead, I swear!"

"Ha! You wouldn't dare - I'd have you put in the stocks for a week. Now, aren't you finished soon? Oh, what's this?" the prince asks poking at a random item lying on the table, as he's done at least five times before. He inspects it closely wrinkling up his nose, before snorting and putting it down again at the totally wrong place.

"I've warned you (thirteen times in the last hour) - Why don't you  _stay put, be quiet and don't touch anything_!"

"Yeah, yeah – it can't be that difficult can it? It's just making it boil. Or maybe you're too much of an  _idiot_  to handle even the simplest things."

" _That_   _does_   _it_!"

Note to self: never anger the most powerful warlock ever in existence.

Merlin whips around, eyes glowing gold and the mildly startled prince is enveloped in a sparkly white smoke. Arthur doesn't have time to even cry out.

_Poof!_

As the smoke lifts, fading away, it's to reveal that the prince has shrunk alarmingly in size and taken on an odd green colour.

"...Oops," Merlin says, eyes widening, at seeing exactly what's happened. It's a quite fitting word. But at least he's not turned the prince invisible, into something inanimate, seriously injured him, or transported him halfway across the kingdom in the blink of an eye. He's just accidentally transformed the prince into a four-legged, green animal, that's all.

"Ribbit!" says Arthur the Frog in a (hopefully) berating, intimidating manner. (Which translates to  _'Merlin_!')

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Honestly. I didn't."

"Ribbit. Ribbit!"  _('You utter idiot, Merlin. Turn me back normal!')_

Merlin sighs, burying his face in his hands. He's just used magic on the Prince of Camelot, turning him into an  _animal_! The King is going to have his head on the execution block for sure! Oh god _,_  how's he going to fix this before anyone notices?

"I warned you, you know," he mutters irritably glaring at the frog. "But of course, you're an utter  _ass_ so you won't listen to me. Or toad, now."

" _Ribbit_!" the prince growls, or attempts to; it's strangely difficult to growl when you've got such a croaky voice. (' _ **Mer**_ _lin_...!')

Very timely, the court physician enters the chambers, hurrying to close the door so that passers-by won't notice the now very purple colour of the brew on the table, and the magical texts spread all-over the room for the young warlock's reference. Said warlock isn't looking at the (almost boiling over) cauldron now, but at a frog seated on the bench next to him which is oddly enough looking back at him, like they're in a staring competition.

"If you'd told me from the beginning you had one of those, I would not have had to go down to the market," grumbled Gaius, frowning just so slightly. "My old joints soon can't take all these stairs any longer!"

"Err, what?" Merlin asks awkwardly, glancing between the physician and the animal.

"The frog. It looks like you don't have any need for it; I need to make a paste for-"

Suddenly the warlock reacts. "No!" Merlin cries out, grabbing the frog gently and holding it to his chest possessively, well out of the physician's reach. "You can't do that! You can't take him and mush him into goo, I won't let you!"

Arthur leans against the warlock, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. "Ribbit!"

"I-I mean, err," Merlin backtracks at seeing the physician's inquiring eyebrow. "I … Please don't kill me, Gaius!" he cries out suddenly. "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear! I'll fix it! I will!"

"I take that's no ordinary frog," Gaius says. He's clearly not impressed.

"Uhm. Not really…" The warlock glances down at the frog in his hands: the eyes are blue, a strange colour for that kind of animal, and there's a hint of gold on top of his head. "… Gaius, you wouldn't have any clue on how to turn frog princes back human, would you?"

" _Merlin_!" the old admonishes, staring at the odd pair completely aghast. "Don't tell me that's the prince!"

"Err … It's the prince."

If it was physically possible, hot steam would now be streaming out of Gaius' ears, accompanied by a loud whistling sound. He stalks over and hits Merlin over the head, something which usually is reserved for prince Arthur only, but since said prince is unable to reach that far, Gaius gladly steps in. "What have you  _done_? You should be more careful about your magic! Haven't I told you that a hundred times! When will you ever  _listen_?"

"Ouch!"

"Ribbit!" Arthur nods enthusiastically.  _('He's a complete idiot sometimes, isn't he?')_

Merlin eyes the frog warily, while rubbing the back of his head. The physician didn't have to hit that hard! "I think he's agreeing with you…"

Sighing (his old heart will soon not be able to take all this anymore: he should ensure Merlin a babysitter. Someone that's not Arthur because you see how that turned out.) Gaius puts down his bag of fresh herbs on the table. "Have you tried anything yet to turn him back – a spell perhaps?"

"…Not really – and I'm not sure what would work, I mean I've never encountered this kind of magic before…"

Arthur tries to bite the hand that's holding him, which doesn't work that well without any teeth. "Ribbit, ribbit? RIBBIT!" he shouts, jumping up and down furiously.  _('What, you turned me into a bloody frog and have_ _ **never**_ _done shape-shifting before? IDIOT!')_

"Calm down, Arthur, calm down!"

But the frog refuses to be petted in any manner and won't listen to the warlock, continuing to jump. Probably since it's his only way to get rid of frustration.

"Luckily for you, I know of a solution. Merlin, to turn him back he needs – well, he needs a _kiss_."

"Wh-what?"

The warlock might've squeaked.

"Look here," the old man holds up a page in a book he's suddenly holding, but Merlin is pretty certain Gaius wasn't near that book half a minute ago. But when scanning the page, Merlin sees that he's right. It states quite clearly that a man of noble blood having been turned into an amphibian needs a maiden's kiss to become a man again.

Merlin reads the text a dozen times to be sure. First quietly. Then aloud. Arthur stops jumping at the third read-through; actually listening himself, freezing up when hearing what the 'solution' exactly is going to entail.

"Only one thing," Merlin says to the physician. "There are no maidens nearby, and I won't run around Camelot in search for one and let them kiss Arthur!"

The old man gives him a quite frightening, pointing  _Look_.

Merlin squeaks and turns red like a ripe tomato. "I'm – you're saying  _I'm_  the one who must kiss him? What! No – I – Don't be ridiculous! He, he's a  _frog_!" he stutters weakly, albeit failing to struggle as much as he could because really, he doesn't really want to, even if Arthur  _is_  a frog. He doesn't want Arthur to remain tiny and green for the rest of his life. And he doesn't quite like the idea of going out there and hand over Arthur to strangers and let  _them_  kiss the prince...No, he doesn't like that thought at all.

"Ribbit," Arthur grumbles, feeling slightly insulted. Was Merlin saying he was too ugly in his frog-form to be kissed? He should put Merlin in the stocks for that!

"I fail to see what the fuss is about," Gaius says. "Would you prefer to go to the King and tell him his son has just been turned into a frog?"

"No! I ... I have to fix this."

The frog croaks nervously, eyes widening as he looks at the warlock, who's staring at him just as awkwardly. Only the frog isn't able to blush. If he were, he'd be a matching colour as Merlin's face.

"F-fine, I'll do it," Merlin mumbles, avoiding meeting the frog prince's gaze, and picks him up carefully. "Please don't kill me for this, Arthur." He gulps to get rid of the lump in his throat. Suddenly trembling a little, and his face still flaringly hot, he slowly raises his hands and places a shy kiss on the frog's face.

The change is just as abrupt as before; a smoke is created which sparkles as sunrays through the window hits it, and suddenly Merlin has a lap full of naked human Prince Arthur. "Eep!" Merlin cries out, arms flailing, but Arthur hasn't got anywhere to go really since he's practically straddling the warlock and though it's terribly awkward, it's kind of nice and Arthur finds himself enjoying it. In a possessive-prat sort of way.

"I assume I can safely continue with my rounds now."

Arthur turns his head to look at the physician, realizing with shock that the man's been there the whole time witnessing this. He suddenly looks very stern, eyes narrowing, and lifts a finger. " _Not_   _a_   _word_ about this," growls the prince in the most threatening manner he can muster, pointing accusingly at Merlin's nose, then giving Gaius an equally threatening look. "To anyone.  _Ever._  Is that understood?"

"Y-yes, sire," the warlock says weakly, still struggling to keep his eyes  _above_  and  _not_   _below_  the very naked shoulders or broad chest or even  _more_  southwards, and he really must stop that train of thought right  _now_. Merlin wonders if it's actually possible to die from embarrassment.

Gaius takes it all in a stride, bowing his neck. "Of course, sire." Then grabs his bag of herbs and is on his way, closing the door behind him and locking it. Just in case. He'll need to remember to knock when coming back – he doesn't want to interrupt the boys when they're … elsewhere occupied. _Well, they should get on with it,_ the old man thinks _, practically the whole city knows anyway and they've been jumping around it for_ _ **months.**_ _Young people nowadays..._

The silence lingers until the door clicks shut.

"Err…maybe you could, uhm, get off my lap now…?" Merlin mumbles, glancing down to avoid the prince's sharp gaze on him which is a  _huge mistake._  Yes. Mistake. Very much.

It's not his fault – it's  _Arthur's_  fault for being naked in his lap and making him look down at-

It  _is_!

His hard swallow doesn't get past the prince. Arthur flushes scarlet, but doesn't seem to mind really. A kind of accomplishment fills him and makes him pleased; this is too great an opportunity to pass up.

"A maiden's kiss,  _Mer_ lin? Well, you do act like a girl most of the time - it really doesn't surprise me," he says with the hint of a smirk and a raised eyebrow, drawling the name in that wonderful way he likes to do it, and lets a finger trail up Merlin's jaw making him look up again. He's a bit slow at looking up though, the warlock's wide eyes glued to ... other parts of the prince's body.

Merlin eeps, squirming a little. "Ye-no!"

"Seem like we need to work on your vocabulary," Arthur murmurs in a way he's certain is seductive, leaning down to almost touch Merlin's cheek with his mouth and maybe he uses a bit of tongue as well, but it's only fair. "And some other things. Let me give you  _a helping hand_."

Merlin doesn't protest, and his calling Arthur a prat fades on his tongue as the prince leans in and claims his lips in a mind-blowing kiss.

(So maybe it was kind of on purpose, that he turned Arthur into a frog to begin with. Not that Arthur has to know.)


	19. Give His Token of Favour To Anyone Other Than the Prince

Needless to say, Merlin is slightly surprised when the usually quiet and distanced sir Leon comes up to him, just minutes before his round starts. The servant pauses halfway to the prince's tent, his arms full of armour. The knights' opponent is warming up across the field, sword glinting in the sunlight.

"Merlin," sir Leon says, earnestly; "I would be honoured if you allowed me to fight in your favour today."

He's even more surprised when suddenly Gwaine comes into view, throwing away the core of an apple he's been eating on. "No! Stop, wait! Don't listen to him, Merlin - I'm asking that question!"

"It should be  _I_  who receives Merlin's favour," Lancelot puts in when he appears from the left, out of thin air. "I am after all an old friend and a faithful, trusted keeper of  _secrets_. Aren't I, Merlin?"

Merlin's eyes flickers confused between the three, but before he can speak up, another knight appears. There's not a single speck of dirt on Percival's chainmail, his shoes are polished and his tunic is spotless. Had he had any longer hair, he would have combed it neatly. "Merlin," Percival says with just a slight hint of nervousness. "Please, would you do me the honour of letting me be your champion?"

"Hang on a moment, that's  _my_  line," Gwaine cuts in.

Leon's voice raises above them, a sharp edge to the tone. " _I_  was here _first_!"

"What are  _you_  all doing here?" a displeased-sounding Gareth rounds the corner, frowning at his fellow knights. He pushes Gwaine aside, to stand directly in front of Merlin: "Merlin, I was hoping you'd-"

By now the servant is feeling very crowded, and starts subtly inching in the direction of the prince's tent.

"Err," he cuts in, pausing briefly to think of his wording; causing Gareth to halt his words. Merlin doesn't was to upset the knights, who are all his dear friends, but he doesn't want to make any of them his particular favourite and the man he  _would_  prefer to favourite isn't present. "I'm sorry but I can't do that...I can't give my favour to any of you. Not that I like you any less! You're all my friends, but..."

The words are enough to cause uproar.

Merlin glances around, searching for a shield or something, but they're too far away. The prince's tent is eight steps away, but the two newest arrivals are blocking the way. Maybe he has to use magic to escape this, though he doesn't like the idea of using magic on his friends. Even if they're all very clingy. It's just  _self-defense_  - they're starting to frighten him slightly now, they all have that look on their faces indicating that they're hunters and he's the deer. The thought is slightly disturbing. Merlin inches to the left - half a step, another step ...

" _What?_  But, but  _I'm_  your  _best friend_  and let you come to the tavern with me for a drink," Gwaine cries upsetedly, waving his hands to emphasis the best friend-bit. "And I'm clearly the greatest knight here and I actually don't treat you like a servant!"

"Yeah,  _right_!" Lancelot says furiously, pointing at the knight accusingly which causes the long-haired man to pout. "You have Merlin pay for it every time you drag him to the tavern with you,  _against his will,_ you drink away _his_  money! And pull stupid, childish pranks and blames Merlin! I know it, I've seen it one time to many!" He turns to the servant, speaking earnestly. "Merlin, I swear to you on my honour, I would  _never_  treat you in such a foul manner."

"...but I was here first..."

Leon's voice is rather faint.

"Nothing would give me more gratitude than if you let me have your token of favour for this tournament," Elyan declares loudly. "If I win, I shall forge and gift you with my strongest sword!"

Percival whips out a bouquet of beautiful flowers from under his cloak, which could have worked if he was alone and not surrounded by a horde of other eager impatient knights. The movement just causes Merlin's eye to twitch.

 _"PLEASE, MERLIN!"_  the knights cry as one, hands reaching out to grab, the warlock leaning backwards trying to get away;  _"PICK ME AS YOUR FAVOURED CHAMPION!"_

"What's this commotion about?" demands an annoyed voice behind them, a tent flap opening and closing, revealing another man with a sword at his side.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts, relief filling him at seeing his rescuer. An idea hits him. He drops the armour (making the prince frown, it's  _his_  armour after all, and if it's dirty what's he going to wear at the tournament?) and rushes up to the prince's side, hurrying to untie his brilliantly red neckerchief.

"Arthur, I want you to have this." The warlock places the piece of cloth in the prince's hand. Suddenly he feels nervous, just slightly, a blush rising to his cheeks, and he bites lip when looking into Arthur's eyes. "It's, umm, a token. For luck. During the tournament. Will ... will you take it?"

The prince looks at him for a moment, then smiles. "Of course. I'll wear it always." He lets Merlin tie the neckerchief around his upper arm, while doing so slipping his free arm around the warlock's waist and flashing a smirk at the knights when the servant doesn't see.

_"NOOO...!"_

Feeling bolder, Merlin grins and presses a brief kiss to the prince's cheek. "Good luck."

And a happy warlock leaves the area side-by-side his pleased prince, the group of wailing knights walking dejectedly behind. Elyan is the first to leave; he'll not partake in the tournament until several hours, so he might as well go to the forge. Maybe he could make a grand, beautiful sword.

To console himself, Gwaine takes a bite from the apple he always keeps in his pocket for emergencies. "Hey, Gareth," he says, putting a hand on said knights' arm. "Let's go to the tavern."

Deflated, Percival looks down at the bouquet in his hands. Maybe he should've picked more and bigger flowers, and red and yellow ones; Merlin seems to like those colours ... Yeah. Next time he'll do that.

"I really thought I had a chance," sir Leon murmurs gloomily, now feeling not at all so keen anymore on facing his opponent on the arena. "I  _was_  here first, I was - I'm certain of it!"


	20. Step In As Substitute Court Physician

It's incredibly typical that Arthur has a killer migraine one day during the two weeks when Gaius has left the city on his yearly check on the outlying villages. Of course, there's this elderly woman in lower town who most commoners usually goes to, unable to afford help from the court physician himself (although Gaius is so kind he usually helps anyway) - but Arthur isn't sure if he trusts unknown people doing voodoo on him like that and anyway, he doesn't get the chance to go down and ask for a remedy because Merlin volunteers immediately at seeing him (lying groaning in the bed, complaining about the bright light, feeling slightly nauseous) to make a cure.

"I mean, I've seen Gaius done it countless times," Merlin says. "I can do it, no problem; don't worry."

Somehow, Arthur's got a feeling that he  _should_  worry, very much so indeed. However Merlin doesn't listen to his (feeble) protests, fussing over him like a mother hen for a couple of minutes to ensure he's comfortable (propping up pillows and covering him with blankets and fetching a hot cup of tea from the kitchens - to be honest it's not that bad, even if Merlin is such an annoying a mother hen) before rushing toward Gaius' chambers to make a potion.

When he comes back some fifteen minutes later he has a look of great concentration on his face and he's flushed like he's just run a race. Or up the stairs and through all the corridors, at the least, which he probably has. He walks as quietly as possible so that he won't make Arthur's headache worse and sits carefully by the bedside. Arthur gives him what's supposed to be a What The Hell Took You So Long, I Could Be Dying Here!-look, but it's quite pitiful.

"Here. Don't drink too fast, Gaius always says that."

The potion looks harmless enough. Smells…a bit odd. Tastes surely very bad, like all medicines. Ugh, he _hates_  medicines. Arthur looks between it and Merlin (who's worrying his bottom lip) uncertainly. "If I die from poisoning, it's  _you_  who'll have to face my father."

"It's safe, I promise," the warlock says. "I wouldn't give you anything poisonous."

Arthur sighs. He has to drink it: he's obliged to participate in the important council meeting this afternoon, and with a headache as this he'll never make it. "Right, here we go…"

He downs it in one go and is shocked that it doesn't taste bad. No … not bad at all. The potion feels slightly warm and bubbly as it goes down his throat, which is odd, but Arthur's head feels instantly lighter and clearer and the light in the room (only from candles, the curtains have been drawn to block out the sharp sun) doesn't pain his eyes.

Merlin takes the empty cup from his hands. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I feel great!"

The servant looks relieved, smiling. "That's great! I can't believe it actually worked!" he exclaims like he has never done such a potion before. Which he probably hasn't. Normally at such words Arthur would react by calling him an idiot, in this situation Merlin imagines that he'll in any second say something like "What, you've never done it before? You could've poisoned me!" but now he doesn't.

Arthur stares at him suddenly, as if seeing the world in a whole new light, his expression strangely intense yet tender and Merlin blinks at him confused at this abrupt change of behavior.

"Are you feeling all right?" Merlin asks concernedly. "Arthur?"

Arthur's tone is straightforward and honest. "You're pretty."

The servant blushes a deep scarlet.

"Arthur...?" Merlin gasps, and then, when realizing how off this behaviour is for the prince; "I must've used too much wormwood or something!" Or maybe he's looked at the wrong recipe? Oh no. Oh god! He's poisoned Arthur, making him act weird! Gaius is going to kill him for this…and Arthur too, most probably. Not to mention the king…! Merlin thinks hard, trying to figure out a solution or anything but he's no idea really what's wrong with the prince, other than he's acting very weird. What's he going to  _do?_

Again, Arthur speaks up, more impatiently as Merlin hasn't acknowledged his words. "I like you."

"I…umm….thank you, that's very nice, Arthur, but-"

The prince obviously won't have that because he suddenly grabs Merlin's waist and pulls him down onto the bed and wraps his arms around him very possessively, one of his legs slipping between Merlin's thighs. The servant's face burns hotly and he squeaks in surprise when Arthur buries his face right above Merlin's shoulder, pushing the neckerchief aside to bear skin, cuddling him close and doing things with his mouth and tongue that Merlin really shouldn't think about right now. Merlin opens his mouth to berate him and tell him to stop (not that he really wants to) but all that comes out is a needy moan. "A-Arthur...!"

"Mine," Arthur murmurs and kisses him, a hand holding his neck in place. Any protest on Merlin's mind fades away and he responds eagerly, raising his hands to touch Arthur's hair and tug at his clothing, and suddenly they both lie there naked whilst Merlin has difficulty thinking in a straight line, chanting only  _Arthur Arthur Arthur_  and it's completely wonderful, and Arthur's doing things Merlin barely has dared to think about before. Some things he's  _never known about_  before, too, like that thing with his broad hands in the juncture between Merlin's thighs and his tongue  _there_  and then...

()()()

Sunlight hits him right in the face, making him groan.

The prince rolls onto his stomach, or tries to, when he realizes something is holding him back. Blinking in surprise, he looks down, seeing a pair of fine pale arms wrapped around his torso. And then he starts feeling the rest of his body: someone is breathing evenly into the juncture of his neck, his skin tingling there, and a naked lean body is pressed flush close against his own, fitting perfectly, and he can't help himself, stroking the smooth skin lying before him. He turns his head, a feeling of happiness and content spreading through his chest when seeing the familiar mop of dark hair, now adorably tousled, and the slightly smiling, pink, very kissable lips…

Wait.

Merlin … is in his bed. Merlin ... is  _naked_  in his bed.

With him.

They're in his bed. Together. Naked. In his bed. With Merlin clinging to him. Naked! In his bed!  _Merlin!_

Everything rushes back to him in a flash. The potion. The wonderful potion and the urge to… Suddenly Merlin's already beautiful smile had become irresistible and that gorgeous body so close to his own, and Arthur had…he'd - and it had been rather wonderful too - too vivid to be one of those amazing dreams. Every touch, kiss, movement had definitely felt very, very real.

Arthur's eyes widens and he looks down at his bedmate in disbelief.

Have they...? Did they...? For real?

This is not a dream is it? It can't be. If it is, Arthur might hurt someone for making them think this is real. But it feels almost too good to be a dream, almost too good to be real, and Arthur runs a hand over soft unblemished skin once more - just to make sure.

_What if it's not real?_

Timely, Merlin starts waking up, stretching and yawning like a kitten and snuggling closer to the warm body next to his own, before sluggishly opening his eyes, to gaze directly into the eyes of the prince.

Arthur stares back at him. "Did…did we really…?"

Merlin seems to realize exactly the state they're in and blushes a deep scarlet. "Y-yeah … we did."

"I…" The prince looks suddenly concerned, earnest and slightly terrified. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Did I force…No I didn't did I? I can't have-!"  _Oh God please, don't let me have lost such control that I did that,_ Arthur pleads _, or I shall never forgive myself!_

The servant shakes his head and makes a timid expression of happiness, gazing at him through long, dark eyelashes. "No. You were very good and gentlemanly," Merlin says coyly.

"Thank god. I feared…" Arthur shakes his head, trying to get rid of the feeling. Unconsciously he pulls Merlin closer to himself; the servant's frame fits neatly against his own, perfectly and nice, like they're meant to be. Neither tries to pull away.

"Um, it…it was the potion," Merlin murmurs awkwardly, his breath quickening in nervousness as he speaks. "I mean. I made a mistake or something…I didn't realize until you drank it and began acting weird, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean - and then you just, I couldn't - didn't want to stop, I hadn't felt anything like it and, and - "

"Merlin," Arthur cuts in calmly, soothingly. "It's all right. Breathe."

"R-really? You're not…mad or anything?"

"I've got rid of my headache and got you in my arms instead. It's a quite nice exchange." Arthur smiles gently, stroking a lock of dark hair which stubbornly falls back onto the warlock's temple, while meeting his gaze. It's strange, how he with a simple look that convey so much and Merlin returns the gaze, happiness and relief and something more burning near the irises. "Although, I don't think you should try to be a physician. Wouldn't want anyone to end up poisoned or anything. Besides...I like you where you are, right at my side."

"Oh," Merlin whispers and don't mind at all when abruptly Arthur leans down to kiss him. When they part, he's out of breath, mind reeling, heart beating in a fast but nice pace and his skin tingles, the prince's hands are suddenly wandering all-over him and he never wants it to stop.

"I-I think you've missed the council meeting," he reminds Arthur quietly as the prince is nibbling at his earlobe and there's a breathless laugh in response. "They're not going to be—oh!—happy— _Arthur!_  Do that again!"

"Again, hm?" Arthur says, lifting his head just enough to look at him with a dangerous, calculating gaze, trapping him – Merlin can't look away, even if he aches inside for more and the hand between his thighs is very…distracting. "You want me to do this …  _again_ , Merlin?" The prince rolls his tongue around his name like it's a sweet rare delicacy, a hum deep in his chest, working up his throat.

Merlin's response is a strangled moan as his toes and fingers curl as hot wonderful pleasure shoots up his spine; he arches into the touch, coaxing the prince's hands back where they do wonders. "Y-yes please."

And Arthur does it gladly, again – and again and again - a promise that theirs shall be an infinity of always and again.

()()()

When they cuddle among satin and velvet much later, arms and legs and happiness entangled, Merlin yawns and pillows his head on Arthur's chest whispering "I love you", and Arthur is amazed at how right, how easy it is to put all these great things into such small words. "I love you too," he murmurs back, a hand in Merlin's hair and they fall asleep, both filled with a certainty that this shall last forever.

()()()

"Sire," sir Leon greets him much, much later with the hint of a raised eyebrow, as the prince finally appears in the throne room. Night has fallen, and candles are spread randomly in the room to provide light. "The meeting is over. Where were you? The king asked for your presence." There are a couple of other older knights there as well, sorting through some papers on the table. They look up at the prince's entrance.

Arthur has thought up a very good, convincing white lie on the way here but now as he stands there with the shadow of Merlin's touches and kisses and other wonderful things lingering on his skin, he flushes scarlet, sharp memories flooding his mind, including the little detail of the warlock waiting back in his chambers for his return, and all well-thought-through words escape him.

"I was…otherwise…er, occupied."

"I see." Leon looks at him closely and opens his mouth like to comment, narrows his eyes, then opens his mouth again. The man's eyes widen, mouth forming an O. " _I see._ "

Arthur avoids the knight's gaze, finding at interesting pattern on the stone floor.

"Well. Go tell my father I apologize; it shan't happen again."

Leon bows quickly before it gets too awkward. "Of course, sire."

When the remaining knights by the table look at him curiously, Arthur glares back, barking at them to mind their own business before he turns on his heel, hurrying back to his chamber.

()()()

"So, is he ... _satisfactory_?" sir Gwaine drawls as he sits next to the servant, who's watching the prince swing his sword in a series of exercises, while said servant is absently polishing the sword in his lap. The rest of the field is scattered with knights in training. At hearing the voice, Merlin startles, unwillingly drawing his eyes away from his (gorgeous) prince.

He turns to stare at the knight, incredulous and extremely embarrassed. They're on the training field, right in the open, with lots of people around -  _anyone_  could hear what he's saying!

"GWAINE!" Merlin shrieks, dropping the cloth he's been using.

"I had to ask," Gwaine defends himself. "It kind of sounded that way when I passed by his chambers yesterday."

"Oh my god, you didn't," Merlin gasps, cheeks ablaze.

"Hey, it's not  _my_  fault that Leon told us to check what was taking the princess so long."

The servant makes a strangled noise. "'U-us'?"

"Yeah, me and Bors. Gosh, you'd have seen the look on the man's face."

"Oh no," the servant wails, completely mortified, hiding his face in his hands, almost starting hyperventilate. "So that's why - that's why everyone's  _doing that thing_ with their _eyebrows_ , and keep looking at me like - like that! Oh god! Oh god!"

Even the cook had given him the odd look when he fetched the prince's breakfast this morning, instead of yelling at him and trying to break his clumsy hands with the rolling pin; and the guards too,  _smiling_  as he passed them by; and everybody suddenly seems to know who he is; one of the knights had even  _bowed his head to him_  this morning and, and - Oh god. _Oh god._

Gwaine's voice cuts through his train of (panicked) thoughts. "It's about time - I wondered if he'd ever get a leg over-"

Which is the moment Arthur finishes his exercise with a newly recruited knight (who looks like he might collapse from exhaustion), looking over at them and rising his voice. "Gwaine!" He yells it in that dangerous I'm-gonna-hack-you-into-pieces-for-being-near- **my** -Merlin-voice (which Gwaine guesses he, and all other knights, must start getting used to). "Get. Over. Here. NOW!"

The knight winks at the wide-eyed servant, who's trying to form words but his jaw just moves up and down soundlessly. "Don't forget to send me a wedding invitation!"


	21. Polish and/or Sharpen Swords in Public

Normally, the quartermaster isn't the kind of man who forgets about propriety, or stares blatantly: it just isn't proper. But...

But the door is wide open, anyone passing by in the corridor can see inside, and the servant boy is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sword in lap, a cloth in hand, carefully tending to the blade. The hand moves up and down gently yet firmly. The boy hums quietly; his face a pleased expression,  _delight_  shining in his eyes, and the quartermaster can't help but stare, his mouth suddenly dry and eyes wide. When the servant rubs carefully near the hilt, the quartermaster swallows. Hard.

And he can't take his eyes away - taking in the slightest detail of the scene, the servant's slight smile, the corners of his mouth (such lips! Beautiful and soft and wonderful to look at, he wonders how they'd feel to touch) quirked upwards; the boy moves his hand upwards again, running it along the whole length of the blade. Up, down, slowly, gently, firmly, almost lovingly and the quartermaster feels a sudden strong ...  _urge_  ... stirring someplace southward. He barely forces himself to stay still.

The servant doesn't notice the audience and the quartermaster (ashamed as he is to admit it) quite likes it that way - and when the interruption inevitably comes, he's severely disappointed. He jerks and lifts his head when there's a bang in the corridor, a door slamming open, and the quartermaster is spurred into motion, hurrying to walk past the armoury before the prince's servant can notice that he's been staring. Or that the man might have a hard  _problem_ left to deal with.

"Merlin!" a voice echoes through the corridor into the armoury, a man stepping over the threshold. "I've been looking all-over the plaa–"

The knight stops in midsentence, mouth open, footsteps halting.

"Leon?" The servant looks at him inquiringly. "You've been looking all-over...?"

"...A-all-over the place for you," the knight says thickly (no, that's not a waver in his voice!), laughing nervously, then coughing when Merlin looks even more bewildered. "I - uhm - wondered if you could  _help me_?"

He coughs again. The words somehow come out far more...laced with undertones than he'd meant to. So he backtracks as quickly as possible. "I mean - my shield and my s-sword - I wonder if you've seen my shield and sword?" The knight bites his tongue. That didn't sound good at all! It sounded positively naughty!

"I seem to have lost them! Will you help me find them?"

Merlin just smiles, oblivious. "Of course I'll help!" He puts the prince's sword and the cloth away, both still glistening with oil, just like his hands, oh those lovely  _hands,_  and stands, using a nearby rag to try to get rid of the stubborn oil. But it won't come off completely, leaving the skin gleaming in the light from various candles and torches scattered about the room.

"I know my way around the armoury pretty well now," Merlin says as he walks across the room. "Arthur insists on sword-training and jousting so often, it's almost insane. I wonder if the prat ever find time or desire for anything else. And when he does it he's always so eager, it's almost unbearable!"

 _Oh heavens!_  sir Leon thinks, as the servant's words hits him and fills his head with images of the prince and Merlin _jousting_  and other inappropriate things, and the knight glances again at the blade sitting waiting on the floor, just seconds ago being tended to by Merlin's careful hands.

Said servant has walked over to a stand in the corner full of swords. Merlin looks at the weapons closely, picks one up wrapping his hand around the handle, the grip steady and the other moves alongside the flat side of the blade, a smooth silky motion over the steel, as Merlin inspects the blade carefully.

Then, with "No, it's not this one." he puts it back in its place and picks up the second sword from the left. And does the same thing again. But, it's not this one either, so he moves on the next, and fainly Leon recognizes it as his own: the handle vaguely familiar. Merlin does the same with this one, his lips forming a brilliant smile and a look of pleasure comes over him of finally finding what he's looking for - Leon becomes slightly dizzy. (Although later he'll argue and say that it was only because the room was so hot. Uncomfortably so, it was a warm summer day after all. It had nothing to do with the servant. Or the sword. Or anything like that.)

Throat inexplicably dry, Leon feebly tries to remember what he's even doing here.

Still looking pleased and proud, Merlin walks back to the very still knight and presents the blade. "Here! It's this one. I recognize it, it's not as long as Arthur's but broader."

 _Oh sweet heavens,_  the knight thinks, vividly wondering if the boy is aware of his own words. It takes a couple of moments for Leon to regain his voice.

"... Th-thank you, Merlin."

The words are rather scratchy and high-pitched and squeaky, and he coughs again. A tiny voice in his head reminds him that he's not only come for the sword or to stare at the prince's very lovely manservant. No. No he didn't. Although the view isn't at all bad-

"... I ... uhm, shield..."

Merlin's eyes widen. "Right, the shield! I'll be right back."

He scrambles to the other side of the room, rummages through some stands and eyes the shields on the walls, until he spots the right one. "Aha!" He grabs it and tries to get it off its shelf, but it's stuck somehow so Merlin tugs firmly, the shield sliding down and into the manservant's arms. "Uff," Merlin grunts, "This is heavier than it looks like."

 _Would it be all right if I went to search for a private alcove now?_  Leon wonders, glancing at the door, eyes unwillingly falling on the prince's sword instead. Then he glances down at the blade in his hands. To his dismay he finds it's true: the prince's sword really  _is_  longer than his own.

"Err, Leon? Could you give me hand, please?"

Merlin's voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him out of the gutter. "Right, of course!" The knight strides over and tales the rather heavy shield from the servant's arms. Rather lovely arms, he notes, the servant's sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The skin is smooth and pale, and the limbs long and graceful just like his hands …

"Leon? You okay?" Merlin asks concernedly. "You look a bit dazed."

"No ... no, I'm ... fine. Absolutely fine. Well I got to go! Training, err, footwork and sword techniques and all that! Have a nice day, Merlin!"

The servant says good day, but continues to look after Leon's back oddly as the knight hastily retreats. The man's behaviour reminds him of that of a man in fever. Maybe he should ask Gaius later. But first he needs to finish polishing Arthur's sword; the prat will be totally  _excruciating_  if it's not done in time.

()()()

"...Well, I knew all along," Gwaine is saying and takes another swing of ale. "Of course!"

"H-how?" Elyan stammers, unable to resist the curiousity gnawing at him.

"The  _sound_  tells everything, mate! Walking past the princess' chambers can give you lots of information on this kind of thing. I thought you were the kind of guy who knows everything about swords," Gwaine says with a wink.

The smith come knight bristles. "I do know everything about there is to know about a sword! Including how to properly tend to it!"

"I can't believe I decided to sit at the same table as you," Leon says, face red. He really shouldn't have mentioned his encounter with Merlin. No. He's not managed to take a single bite of his lunch yet. There's a risk of coughing and getting it lodged in his throat, thus suffocating himself, and it's not the way he wants to go to the history books:  _Sir Leon of Camelot, Honourable Knight, Killed By a Potato a Sunny Summer Day, Because of Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan's Untimely Conversation Regarding Swords._ Yeah, not the way he wants to be remembered, thanks.

"Your own fault, mate. I can't believe you wouldn't let me go and see Merlin polish Arthur's sword!" Gwaine says.

Leon retorts with a sharp glare. "You'd try to flirt with the boy and convince him to polish _yours_! It'd end up in disaster, with your head on the chopping block when Arthur finds you. Which he definitely would. There would be other missing body parts involved as well - and _I_  would have to write the king a report!"

"So what? There's nothing wrong with a man wanting having his blade properly tended to now and then. 'Sides, mine's bigger than Arthur's."

 _"Excuse me_ ," sir Gareth, who's been sitting quiet until now, says rather loudly, causing most of the people in the tavern to turn their heads in the knights' table's direction. "I've got to - to go back to training. Like, now."

Leon is quick to follow. He really needs to find some better company off the training court, or he might go mad.

"Really?" Elyan demands narrowing his eyes at Gwaine. "Is it _really_?"

"Yup. Just ask Merlin."

"WHAT? You've - with - with  _Merlin?"_  the smith and knight asks incredulously, his expression telling everything:  _Do you have a death wish?_ Because even though it's not officially announced (yet), Merlin is Arthur's property and lover and to indulge in anything with Merlin without Arthur's permission/knowledge or even with it, is like begging to be hanged/burned/banished. "Are you crazy? You've ... with MERLIN?"

Gwaine smirks. "Wouldn't you want to know..." With a mysterious glint in his eyes he stands, putting down the now empty cup on the table and calling the barman over so that he can pay for the drink. (Not mentioning he  _might_  have borrowed a couple of coins from Lancelot to do so - only a fool would drink away his own money!)

Elyan is left sitting there gaping like a fish.

()()()

"He's  _what_?"

"I-I'm afraid it's true, sire."

"WHAT? NO! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!"

Yeah. Gwaine clearly has a death wish.

Prince Arthur storms past the knight who has delivered this dreadful message (the knight quivering in his boots and the onlookers pitying him wholeheartedly) and down the corridor, and bursts into the armoury at full charge, yelling at the top of his lungs: "MERLIN!  _MERLIN!"_

The boy looks up from his work like a startled hare with a squeak, dropping the cloth he's been using. "...Arthur?"

"WHERE THE HELL IS GWAINE!"

"I don't know, at his chamber or down the training field probably, but could you  _stop yelling_  please?"

"ARE YOU POLISHING HIS SWORD?"

"No..." Merlin says slowly, staring at the prince, confused. "Well, I did that last week, but I'm doing  _yours_  now, see?" He lifts the blade he's been tending to. "And I fixed your shield and your armour too," he adds proudly; he's running before schedule which the prince should he happy about. But he isn't for some strange reason. What's with the angry yelling and quick harsh breathing?

 _Has Gwaine beaten him during training again?_  Merlin wonders, remembering last time that happened. (It'd been an awful week; everyone, servant and knight and councilor alike, staying on their toes. Lots of goblets had been thrown around for no apparent reason.)

The prince manages to tune down his volume a bit. So that instead of the whole castle hearing him, just people in the nearby corridors can. "You're not polishing his sword? I mean - you haven't  _polished Gwaine's sword_ have you?"

"Arthur, you're not making any sense." Merlin points at the blade in his hands. "No, this is  _your_  sword."

Arthur growls something intangible about swords and knights and servants. "I don't mean that kind of sword! I meant his ...  _sword_!"

"There are different kinds of swords?" Besides from slight differences in size and weight, all swords he's seen in Camelot look pretty much the same to Merlin.

But then it hits him. Square in the face, causing Merlin's breath to hitch.

Arthur thinks he's been ...  _polishing_  ... Gwaine's. Well. His.  _That_  kind of ... sword.

 _Oh_.

 _"_ Oh _."_

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'oh'? HAS THE MAN NO SHAME! HOW DARE HE,  _HOW THE HELL_ DARES HE TOUCH _MY-_ "

"Arthur!" Merlin cries, cutting through the prince's tirade. "I haven't. Polished Gwaine's. Err, sword _. That_  kind of...sword."

Air wheezes out of the prince's lungs, wide eyes fixing him on the spot: Merlin doesn't dare move. "You...you haven't?"

"I haven't!" Merlin says assuredly because the only sword he's ever, erhm, polished,  _that way_ , is Arthur's and surely the prince knows that. "I'd never do that to - anyone but you! Err. You know? Uhm, I thought you meant his ... sword. The metal one."

Arthur looks very pleased and relieved. Thank god. Thank god. At least Gwaine knows  _some_  boundaries - although Arthur is pretty sure he needs to reinforce those boundaries. Strongly and hastily. And maybe he should lock Merlin away in some high tower somewhere and let him be guarded by a dragon - he's got plenty of dragons around, it'd keep them busy.

But. Hang on.

"Wait, you've polished his sword? The metal one?"

"Yes, last week, I told you. I was tending to yours and he asked me if it was okay I did his too, and I said yes, and he gave me a couple of coins for it as well, for the trouble. But it was his  _metal_  sword! It was nothing like ... Like that. ..."

"..."

"..."

An awkward silence falls over them, and they avoid each other's gaze. It goes on for a couple of minutes. Merlin grabs Arthur's sword to finish working with it. His hand is not quite steady when he grabs the cloth, though.

"Err, well I should. Finish polishing your...sword."

"Yeah," Arthur agrees, "Yes, that's a good idea," he says and his mind suddenly spins into full motion, of coming up with pleasant, gleeful ways to spend the rest of his day (and night and following morning, day and night) alone with Merlin and a bottle of oil for sword polish.

()()()

Nobody is surprised when Gwaine gets completely thrashed by Prince Arthur at training. Or that there are extra guards put on duty so that said knight can't pass by the prince's chamber or the armoury any longer (or at least without an escort, such as Morgana when she's in a bad mood).

But they're a bit disappointed when from that day on Merlin does all polishing, sharpening and tending to the prince's sword in the prince's chamber, behind locked doors and covered windows. When given this rule, Merlin tries to form some kind of apology to Gwaine, Percival and some other knights with puppy-dog eyes, holding up a piece of parchment written and signed by Prince Prat. "Sorry, but I'm not allowed to sharpen your swords any longer. Read here, it states very clearly..."

Which is a very, very awkward conversation now when he's suddenly aware of in what angle the words can be interpreted, and even  _more_  awkward when the knights pout and Gwaine says, "It's a pity, you've got such  _skillful_  hands, Merlin."

(After which he's trashed by Arthur. Again. For the one hundred-and-eighty-fifth time, or something like that.)

Merlin thinks about taking a vacation. Someplace far off. In a peaceful valley village with a large green forest and a gentle brook, or something. Without castles or prats. Someplace where there are no swords. Swords in need of polishing, that is. Not that Arthur would ever let him; if he does, Arthur will be adamant of going with him and of course then there'd be sword polishing (of various kinds) and the prat won't let Merlin polish anyone else's sword, or anyone but Merlin polish Arthur's sword. Or his ... sword. Well, the original duty of sword polishing mentioned.

(Sword polishing is  _clearly_  overrated.)


	22. Let Dragons Have Tea-Parties In Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note: This contains references to chapter one, the one with the baby dragon._

Why is it, that every day Arthur wakes up feeling that this, this might be a fairly normal, fairy sane and fairy  _calm_  day, things starts going  _absolutely wrong_ and the day only rolls downhill?

It must be some insane natural order existent only around Camelot. More specifically around the Prince of Camelot and his manservant/warlock/idiot - there can't be a month passing by without some kind of trouble.

But not today. No, Arthur is determined that today, he'll do everything possible to have a great, relaxing day; no stress, no wyverns, no assassinations, no obligations.

For once, Arthur is trying to enjoy a nice morning. There's brilliant sunshine; there are no complaining farmers (they always talk about cows for some reason) crowding the audience hall; the entourage from Chesire has just left after a peaceful visit and successful signing of a treaty. His father seems to be slowly but surely recovering from a heart-shattering attack two months ago; and Merlin is standing there right beside him on the wall, smiling as they talk and banter while looking over Camelot. Arthur loves standing here: the view beautiful, making his chest lighter – he likes it especially with Merlin by his side (not that he'd say that aloud, that'd spread rumours). It's the start of a wonderful day.

Oh, and has he mentioned yet that a dragon just has landed in the middle of the courtyard?

...

There's a bloody _dragon_.

In the middle of the  _courtyard._

"I didn't call for it," Merlin says at Arthur's sharply raised eyebrow. "I  _didn't._  I've never seen that dragon before in my life!"

The prince is too busy trying to calm the people who're screaming and fleeing the area, to respond the warlock. Which is a hard task because people have all the right to be afraid when a fifteen foot high fire-breathing beast is landing in the middle of the busy courtyard, accidentally turning over a merchant's stall with its long tail.

"Oops," the dragon says, trying to upturn the stall again only to reduce the wood into little pieces. The apples and potatoes roll off in all directions or get mashed against the pavement. "Sorry about that."

Arthur draws his sword.

The dragon turns around to face the pair; the wall is quite high above the ground, but so is the creature's head and as its giant snout nears him and Merlin, Arthur automatically grabs the warlock's arm and pulls him behind him. Merlin gives him a sideward glance clearly telling him that  _If that thing wants to eat/roast us/turn us into spit, a simple non-magic sword won't save our backsides,_ but Arthur decides to ignore it _._

"Who are you, and why are you here?" Arthur asks the dragon in his most impressive I'm Strong And Dangerous, I've Got A Sword And Won't Hesitate-voice. If that stupid green dragon beneath the castle has telepathically sent out visit invitations to his lizard friends, Arthur is going to kill it. Seriously. Having to keep an eye on one annoying mind-reading dragon, two far too cute baby dragons (Merlin honestly has to stop gathering cute baby creatures and smuggle them back to Camelot!) and one childish, hyperactive Dragonlord is already too much work for one Prince.

"Speak up before I run you through!"

It's not really a threat in the face of the beast, but Arthur's the prince so his word matters most anyway. Of course. It matters a lot more than whatever the stupid dragon has to say.

"It is a great honour to finally meet you the famous Emrys and Once and Future King," the dragon says in a booming voice, which even Arthur has to admit made an impression. "I've waited a long time. Though, you _are_  a lot smaller than I thought you'd be."

The prince glares at the creature. "What is it with dragons and knowing us before we've met them?" he demands: first Kilgarrah and now this. The dragon looks amused, an uncanny shadow of that other large fore-seeing dragon's expression and Arthur shudders. A little.

"I didn't know there were other dragons!" Merlin cries excitedly, stepping out from behind the prince. "Kilgarrah never spoke of them. (Then again he never told me about Cal or Aithusa right until we found them.)"

He wonders if this dragon is going to leave at once or plans stay? Maybe he should make it and Kilgarrah meet? Kilgarrah is quite lonely, and complains about having to 'babysit' - maybe he would appreciate the help of another adult dragon. Yes! This starts to sound like a great plan! And it would give Cal and Aithusa a proper dragon uncle (because Kilgarrah is more like the grandfather). Yes! Merlin can't wait to make them meet!

"There are few in the region, and only one scent lingers marking this territory," the dragon says. "Kilgarrah, you said? I hope he's well. It's three millennia since I last saw him...I should invite him over for tea."

"NO!" Arthur shouts, waving around his sword in a threatening manner, but since the dragon is magic and stuff like that, the tiny (in comparison to the beast's body) blade barely touches it, let alone scratches it The prince however is caught up in his tantrum. "No! I  _won't have any more mad dragons in Camelot_  and let them form strange underground communities where they discuss mine and Merlin's private life, write stupid stories about us, drink ale with Gwaine and eat sugary cookies to keep you going for hours! No, I  _will not_ have it!"

The guard standing some way behind them on the wall is inching toward the nearest door, wildly wondering how to explain to King Uther that there's a dragon in the courtyard. A dragon which Prince Arthur is screaming at like a twelve-year-old who's just found out all the sweets have gone and been replaced with vegetables.

Merlin glances oddly at the prince, ears turning red. "...You were like this when we met those druids, too ..." he murmurs, completely confused, because he can't honestly understand what Arthur's talking about: and what does Gwaine got to do with it? Since announcing the presence of Kilgarrah to the knights, Gwaine might've gone down once or twice but surely he can't have been sharing ale with the creature. Gwaine never shares ale with  _anyone -_ it's  _his_  precious ale to get drunk on, no one else's. None of this is making any sense, and Arthur is making a scene now, every solider/guard/peasant/merchant staring at them.

The dragon leans down further, inspecting them closely with its very large yellow eyes. "Yes, how very small you are," the dragon muses, "for such a great destiny. It is quite not believable, were I not so sure of what I've Seen."

" _Quit it!_  Quit talking about Destiny! It's freaking me out!"

Merlin lays a hand on the prince's shoulder. "Calm down, you prat. You're overreacting."

"Yes," the dragon agrees calmly, "he is quite easily riled."

The prince aims his sword bravely at the beast, but the dragon lifts a massive talon easily parrying the blow.

"My sword!" Arthur cries, dismayed, staring at his slightly dented weapon. "You scratched it! YOU SCRATCHED IT! Argh, you're gonna pay you stupid scaly lizard! I'm going to chop you to little pieces! FOR CAMELOT!" With a war-cry he lunges at the dragon, which is wise enough to step backwards, and Merlin lunges after him in the nick of time saving him from falling over the wall.

Arthur hasn't quieted, however, and grabs Merlin's wrist and pushes him behind him, out of the beast's reach. "I'm going to slay this stupid dragon, stay back Merlin and let me handle this! I WON'T LET IT TAKE YOU!" he yells  _very_  loudly and Merlin's whole face adopts the same shade of red as his ears.

"Err..." the Dragonlord says to the dragon, wanting to solve this before it becomes even more awkward. "If you'd go now I'd be very grateful."

The dragon dips its head. "It was an honour. Albion shall enter a bright age shortly." It spreads its large leathery wings, preparing for flight.

Just before lift-off, the dragon turns its large head in the pair's direction. Arthur has stopped his attack now, realizing that his great plan of Using-My-Sword-To-Cut-Off-The-Dragon's-Wings has failed, and opts for banging his head against the wall instead (from being knocked unconscious so many times in the past he's developed a healthy, hardy scull).

"Oh, and Emrys," the dragon says in a booming, but somehow gentle, kind voice, as if he's a grandfather or old advisor giving a good word to a beloved child or nephew: "It would be wisest if you let the Once and Future King sire all of your hatchlings."

"Err," Merlin says uncertainly, blushing to his toes now and trying to hide his face beneath his neckerchief, very aware of the stares on him. Including a very shocked Arthur's - the prince stares at him very intensely, having stopped backing his head against the wall at hearing those words - "...Thank you for the advice...?"

Then, the prince regains his voice and growls at the dragon: "If you want to have tea with that other stupid beast do it FAR AWAY, far, far from Camelot -  _understood? UNDERSTOOD?"_

()()()

"Ah, dear cousin! It's been a while! You're a bit out of the loop if you think you're the only one left." The dragon lowers its head to greet the two little ones, Aithusa and Cal, hiding behind Kilgarrah's leg. "Are these yours? They look naught but fifty years old!"

"Three millennia is but a blink of an eye. And no, these are not mine, I'm merely looking after them for the young dragonlord - this little white one hatched four months ago, but both of their eggs waited for a long time. What brings you to Camelot? - Have some tea."

"News has finally reached me of Emrys and the Young King! It is indeed wonderful."

"... Yes, I heard the commotion above. It was quite difficult  _not_  to hear."

"Yes, the prince has got quite a strong voice."

Kilgarrah sniggers. "If you believe so now, you should hear their nightly activities!"

"ARGH! QUIT IT!"

The two dragons look up from their conversation at the door of the cave, where a very pissed off prince is standing waving a torch irritably while trying to ignore the sharp smell of mint tea. A sleepy warlock dressed in nightshirt is beside him, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the back of a hand. Arthur has grabbed his arm and tugs at it when Merlin doesn't seem to realize who the prince is yelling at. "Arthur," he mutters, yawning. "Why'd you drag me here? 'm tired. Let's go back to bed." He tugs at Arthur's sleeve impatiently.

At hearing that, one of the dragons leans closer to the ledge. "Oh! Have you taken my advice into action yet, milord?" Kilgarrah's cousin asks excitedly.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THIS ANYWHERE CAMELOT! STAY AWAY! … AND EVEN IF WE DO  _THAT_  I WON'T LET YOU KNOW, YOU STUPID - STUPID  _LIZARD_!"

Of course, he's ignored. The small baby dragons chirrup happily at seeing the two humans, jumping up to the ledge, and Merlin pets their heads and dutifully asks how they've been doing. Aithusa and Cal crave a lot of attention, but Merlin is more than happy to give them that, even if he's very tired (and his ears are ringing from Arthur's yelling). "Don't listen to Arthur, he's just being a dollophead again," he says to the little dragons, nuzzling Aithusa's snout.

"I am  _not_  a dollophead!"

"Easily riled, indeed," Kilgarrah muses, a humming noise deep in his massive throat. He turns to his fellow dragon, a curious gleam in his yellow eyes. "You say, cousin, that you've Seen it come to be?"

"Oh yes. Soon in fact! The Dawn is near, through the Sun and the Moon ..." And the two elderly dragons set off in another riddle game.

Aithusa smiles at the warlock. "Dollophead!" he chirrups.

Arthur stares at the small dragon. And at Merlin. And at the dragon again. "Oh god," he moans, voice filled with pain, "now he's  _never_  going to remember my name, let alone my proper title."

"Dollophead!"

Merlin's eyes fill with parental pride, face glowing, and he smiles wide as he cradles the baby dragon. "Oh, Arthur, did you hear that? He said his first word,  _his very first word_! Arthur! Did you hear, he said _his_   _first word_! Oh Aithusa, I'm  _so_   _proud_   _of_   _you_! My little baby's growing up," Merlin says, grinning like a loon, something suspiciously like tears glimmering in his eyes. He places a series of motherly kisses on the small snout, cooing; "Can you tell me who's dollophead, sweetie? Tell me who's dollophead."

Again, Aithusa speaks up, pointing a small talon in the prince's direction enthusiastically. "Dollophead! Dollophead!" Then at Merlin, lovingly: " _Moðor, moðor_!" And that doesn't need a translation, but Merlin doesn't mind: he hugs Aithusa tight, cradling him, calling the baby sweetie and darling and other adorable things, and over and over saying that he's so, so proud of him. The baby looks rather smug, which causes the other little dragon, Cal, to glower at him.

"I must say, I've never heard such a description of the Once and Future King before. It is strangely fitting," Kilgarrah's cousin says, watching the exchange curiously in the corner of a wrinkled eye.

Opting for another alternative to keep out of this strange family business, Arthur finds a suitable wall to bang his head against.


	23. Bath In Open Rivers/Lakes Without A Prince To Guard Him

Gentle sunrays from the red-hued setting sun seek their way through the foliage, landing in a mossy clearing: six men in armour and red cloaks are gathered in the centre. There's also a youth with dark hair, stirring the stew that's boiling over the campfire. They're all happy: the journey to the neighboring kingdom was long and rainy, but they were welcomed well and the negotiations were successful, gaining Camelot another strong ally. The whole way back to the city has been uneventful with good weather, not a drop of rain in sight.

"It's been a successful week," says Leon while taking a bite off his bread and cheese. "But stressful as well. It'll be good to come back to Camelot and get some proper rest."

The other knights hum in agreement.

"Yeah. And visit the tavern!"

Lancelot elbows Gwaine in the stomach playfully. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of anything else."

"Of course I do!" Gwaine sounds affronted. "Like sword-skills. Beer. Fighting. Ale. Women - pretty women. And apples of course. And beautiful young men (for example one or two Camelot's royal manservants) when they pass by. Mmm..." Sighing dreamily, his eyes glaze over, and he smiles happily caught in some day-dream.

Lancelot shakes his head. "I don't think I want to know the rest."

The servant smiles watching their behaviour out of the corner of his eye. Some things never change. The smile lingering, he spoons up some stew into the bowls, presenting it to the knights in turn, starting with the prince. Arthur flashes him a grateful, loving look, but quickly covers it up since the knights are there: "It seems we've finally found something you can do without making a  _complete_  idiot of yourself."

"Prat," Merlin retorts, but smiling because he knows that tone of voice: it means Arthur honestly thanks and compliments him, and the words are merely a layer for Arthur's prattish protection, he won't admit stuff like that out loud - though when in private, just the two of them, there's no hindering him from telling Merlin how wonderful he is, how much he appreciates him; words that warms Merlin's spine and heart.

"That smells lovely, Merlin," Leon says, thankful. "I'm famished! We're lucky to have one of the best cooks of the kingdom with us, men."

The warlock blushes faintly. He's not used to getting openly praised like that, though it is very nice.

"Me too. Thank you." Gwaine accepts a bowl, greedily starting to eat. "It tastes great! There wouldn't happen to be any beer, by any chance?"

"No," Elyan says, rolling his eyes at his companion. "You emptied all the bottles on the way here, remember?"

"Oh." Realization dawning, the knight frowns. "Yeah. Now I do. Pity."

"And I'm extremely relieved," Arthur says from across the fire; "having to stand another night with drunken Gwaine would've been  _hell."_

"What! I like to sing that song."

"Sing it again and I'll cut off something  _precious_ of yours," is the prince's darkly muttered reply. The men laughs good-heartedly, ignoring the knight's protest ("I'm a great singer! I've been asked to perform in taverns far and wide, I'll have you know!")

While this commonplace conversation was taking place, Merlin has wolfed down his meal and has got an idea. They passed by a stream some ten minutes before making camp, not far west from here, and when he strains his ears he can hear the faint rush of water; riding for hours under heavy sunlight has made his skin itching to get clean. So he quietly gathers his pack, where he's put some spare clothes, and glances over his shoulder at the fire. The sun isn't fully down yet, and there are no dangerous animals or bandits around for miles. It'll be OK, and Arthur and the knights seem busy anyway, joking about Gwaine's last tavern encounter.

But Arthur notices, of course, head twisting to look at him. "Where are you going?" he asks suspiciously.

"I'm going to go down the river and bathe. If that's all right."

Immediately, Gwaine jumps to his feet, full of enthusiasm and completely forgetting about the story he was in the middle of telling. He grins, stepping up to Merlin with a wink. "I can accompany you! I need to take a wash anyway, I'm all dirty and  _sweaty_."

**"NO!"**

Everyone turns to look at Arthur. Who blushes slightly, and lowers his voice from a roar of anger to a firm order. "No.  _You're_  going to gather firewood  _east_ ward with Leon." (Insert icy glare here.) "Elyan, Percival, Lancelot – you're staying here guarding camp."

"We've already got firewood!" Leon and Gwaine points at the rather large pile of wood, its size indicating it could last for the whole night through without a problem.

"What's there to guard here? Shouldn't we help and guard Merlin, sire? I mean - there could be ... bandits by the lake, or...or giant dangerous fish," Percival says doing his best puppy-look.

Merlin's got a certain weakness for cute, adorable things. But he kind of doubts that thing about giant fish ... and even if there are such threats, he's got his magic to defend himself. And even if Percival and the other's willingness to help is nice, bathing is private to him, Merlin isn't used to doing it in someone else's company and well, he knows they'd, umm,  _stare_ a lot at him. Which isn't... It's not something he's very comfortable with. So he glances at Arthur almost pleadingly. He'd only meant for a quick dip to get rid of the smell! Not for the knights start arguing who's to go with him.

Arthur catches the look, and even if he hadn't he wouldn't have the knights going  _anywhere near_   **his**  Merlin's (naked) vicinity.

So he pins them with a furious blazing gaze. "You. Firewood. Now." He points at the shadowed forest, in the opposite direction of the stream; his voice so stern that Gwaine and Leon automatically jump to their feet and the prince lays a hand on the hint of his sword in warning, so the two grudgingly trudges off. Then, the prince glares at the remaining nights. "Stay!" he barks, the tone making them wince.

"Yes sire!"

The suddenly gloomy knights part ways. Percival sinks down to sit again, throwing a stick into the fire, watching Merlin's retreating back longingly.

"Sire," Lancelot suddenly speaks up, "I need to - uhm, nature calls."

Arthur grimaces, and points eastward.

The knight dashes up and away in the blink of an eye.

()()()

From behind a nice green shrubbery, two voices are whispering back and forth in urgency.

"Ow. Stop stepping on my...Ouch! That's my toe!"

"Shh!"

"This was your idea!"

"You're the one who agreed to it!"

"Move over - here he comes..."

"I was here first, I deserve the better view!"

"OUCH! My-!"

"Quiet!"

Glancing back at the shrubbery he passes on his walk to the stream, to admire how green and strangely nicely trimmed it seems, Merlin pauses moment as he hears a sound, like a whisper or the flutter of leaves. But then it goes totally quiet. He shrugs, and continues on: it's probably just a squirrel.

()()()

Arthur doesn't follow Merlin. Of course. He doesn't. Not the whole way down to the river. Of course not. He's a honorable man, not some peeping tom.

He isn't.

...Seriously.

Okay. So maybe he waits for maybe five, six minutes before turning in Merlin's direction but only to make sure there were no thieves, monsters, lecherous knights or giant fish nearby. Honestly.

()()()

Humming happily, Merlin sinks into the water. The temperature is just right, the heat of the sun lingering making the surface warm. This is really nice. He's not had a quiet moment for himself like this for awhile; nice solitary lakes and meadows are hard to come by when things are busy in Camelot. Slowly he wades out from the shore, testing the water's depth, then dives in. The water is rather clear, whooshing past his ears, and he breaks the surface with a big grin on his face. He's not bathed in open waters for months - he's missed this.

Taking another breath, the plunges beneath the surface again, exploring the bottom of the water, enjoying the almost weight-less feeling - Merlin takes a few firm strokes, before his lungs begins to demand air. So he turns upwards, crossing the watery barrier and exhales, inhales.

And comes face to face with a bush.

A bush with _two pair of eyes in it._

()()()

When he hears the shriek, Arthur's heart almost stops, his whole body momentarily freezing up. He knows that voice.  _Oh god!_  flashes through his brain, every one of his nerves suddenly on highest danger-alert,  _Merlin! Merlin's in danger!,_  and he breaks into a run.

()()()

Arms flailing, Merlin stumbles. Well, as well as one can stumble in water. It takes a moment to regain his footing. He's still unable to tear his gaze away from the bush with the eyes in it.

Then he realizes he recognizes those eyes and _then_  he realizes that those eyes are  _staring_   _at him_  quite intensely, and he wraps his arms around his torso trying to shield himself, breathing rather fast.

The eyes move, coming closer and two faces come into view. Their expressions are a mix between jaws-slack-in-awe and eyes-wide-in-shock, and there's a streak of guilty as well.

"G-Gwaine! Leon!"

"...I couldn't resist," the knights say in unison, both trying their best to imitate a kicked puppy so that they'll be forgiven but they're kind of unfocused, unable to stop their treacherous gaze from roaming over the servant in all his naked glory.

"Yeah, I mean - you're very ... You look positively  _edible_ ," Gwaine breathes, coming out further from the tangly bush.

Which is the moment a flash of red and silver crashes through the woods like hell itself was on his tail, sword drawn, yelling at the top of his voice.  **"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"**

The knights wince and retreat (wisely), and this time Merlin  _does_  fall backwards, nearly jumping out of his skin in fright. Spluttering for air he breaks the surface and then someone's grabbed his upper arm, pulling him toward the opposite shore where the knights are: dazes, Merlin looks over his shoulder at Arthur's red, steaming-with-fury face.

"Er," Merlin says, trying to form some kind of comprehensible words.

_I thought I'd finally get some peace and quiet._

Arthur continues to glare daggers at the knights, in a manner which should scar them for the rest of their lives, while wrapping his red cloak around Merlin's bare, wet body, to protect it from those damned knights' view.

"What is it," he growls, "about the word 'order'  _you don't understand_?"

"Uh ..." sir Leon is the first to speak. Abruptly he covers his eyes with his hands. "I'm sorry sire, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry (please don't kill me)!"

Gwaine grins loopsidedly. "Uhm, I'm with him."

"A SIMPLE APOLOGY WON'T DO!" is the angry reply, underlying with the meaning that the journey back to Camelot and the next few weeks will be full of suffering and pain; border patrol and extra duties and restrictions to taverns, and other such terrible, terrible things.

 _Why did I even think I'd get some peace and quiet?_  Merlin wonders, incredulous, shaking his head. Arthur is really on the edge, and Merlin has seen him in this kind of mood before to know not to argue with him. Thus, he doesn't complain when the prince lifts him into his strong arms to carry him back to camp bridal-style.

(Not that Merlin would've complained about it in any case.)

()()()

 _Five minutes later_ :

They're greeted by a panicked looking Elyan and Percival. Their panic turns to astonishment at seeing the state of the prince, servant and knights however.

"Sire! Merlin! What's happened? We heard a terrible cry, and we feared-"

"We're all right," Merlin hurries to say. "I mean - I'm fine. Just a ... misunderstanding."

"MISUNDERSTANDING? You call it merely a MISUNDERSTANDING? Argh, I'm going to show you _MISUNDERSTANDING!"_

Awkwardly, as it's quite awkward to pat someone's shoulder when you're lying in their arms while trying to keep your body covered by just a thin piece of fabric, Merlin lays a hand on the prince's upper arm, attempting to calm him. "Arthur, you've been yelling at them for the last five minutes. And saying some quite horrible things too. Just look at them!" He points at the two quivering knights who are trying to take cover behind the bulky Percival. "They're as scared as little hares in front of a hunter! Please leave them be now, Arthur, or they'll never make it back to Camelot whole."

It might hinder the prince from shouting the foulest things known to man or draw his sword, but he continues to grumble a stream of threats under his breath, and Merlin decides it's best to continue pet his arm and murmur sweetly (who knows, he might calm down enough for Gwaine and Leon to return to their wits).

()()()

_Seven minutes later:_

A knight emerges from the woods and is met by a disbelieving, disapproving stare.

"You were peeing  _the whole time_?"

"... I'm honest, sire!"

()()()

_Twenty-eight minutes later:_

There are now two fires. One before which the prince is seated, and the other where the knights are huddled (avoiding to glance at the other fire, no matter how much they want to. Or not want to. Arthur death-glares them down every time; it's not a nice experience.)

"Arthur, could you let me up and let me get my clothes now? As nice as it is sitting in your lap, you're wearing cold armour, and I'm still damp and cold, and your chainmail itches. And have I said cold?"

The prince shuffles Merlin closer to his body and them both closer to the fire.

Silence.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "So that's a no, then."


	24. Disguise Himself As Someone Else To Fool Assassins

"Father!" Arthur stares at the king disbelievingly. "You cannot be serious!"

"Refusing their request could trigger a war. Besides, we cannot rely merely on rumour."

" _Merely_   _rumour_? There've been threats,  _attempts_  at taking Morgana's life – and we're  _inviting_  them? It's like asking them to come and just get it over with!" Arthur exclaims. The idea of opening the doors of Camelot to lord Guthrie is simply outrageous.

Morgana, seated on the opposite side of the dining table, snorts. "As if they could." If anyone tries to take her life, they're going to be in for a surprise. No one expects a lady to be able to wield a sword. So well in fact, that Arthur rather forget about their 'silly match' eight years ago (which he did absolutely  _not_  lose - he was just going easy on her; she's a girl after all, not a knight).

But the king takes the prince's word into serious consideration. He's right, he realizes, allowing lord Guthrie and his entourage to come to Camelot poses a risk to his ward's safety. "You are right, Arthur," Uther says gravely, and turns to his ward, "I cannot put you in danger, Morgana."

"So we refuse, then," Arthur says, exhaling, while thinking:  _By god, please don't let that foul, snobbish, arrogant, ugly, annoying lord into Camelot._

Uther waves a hand, dismissing the words. "We need a diversion, something to keep their minds off Morgana during their visit."

_... We're still inviting them? What? No!_

"Hmm, yes, I suppose," the lady agrees, the hint of a smirk beginning to form which Uther probably doesn't notice, too deep in thinking himself, but Arthur  _does_  notice and shivers involuntarily: this means something dreadful is about to happen, something which will probably affect him too. It's the kind of evil smile he knows he must be cautious when seeing. "What about a substitute?"

Interest perking up, Uther turns to her; there's the hint of a raised eyebrow. "A substitute?"

"Yes – we could find someone to play my part as the lord visits; I could keep in the background, posing as a maidservant or a kitchen aide. They won't suspect a thing."

Uther's eyes lights up. He's starting to like this idea: it'll protect his ward, and by using a bait, they could actually make a trap and catch the assassins in action, get confirmation that they really have been sent by lord Guthrie and thus let the king give them the punishment they deserve. Yes. Now, the only problem is finding a suitable "replacement": someone who won't be noticed missing for a week, someone who knows not enough but not too little either, someone who won't leak to outside the court of the plan…Someone dependable, _trustable_. And of course, someone who looks at least a bit like Morgana. For she's known far and wide as a tall, pale-skinned, dark-haired beauty, there's no fooling any assassins that.

He voices this worry, and Morgana smiles slightly. "But I have an idea, sire," she says; "why not let Merlin, Arthur's manservant, play the part?"

Uther looks thoughtful. "Merlin?" (The servant boy  _has_  proven himself incredibly loyal and is admittedly quite suitable for the role, even if he does seem to have some kind of mental disease.)

Arthur's jaw drops, eyes as wide as saucers. " _Merlin_?"

Which is the exact moment said pale-skinned, dark-haired servant enters the large room with a tray of wine, looking utterly confused at the mention of his name.

()()()

"How does it fit?"

"Err, it's. Uhm. I don't – I don't know," is the faint answer from the other side of the dressing screen.

Again, he tugs at the lacings, trying to make sense of them. Gwen notices, and pulls the silk bands out of Merlin's hands: "Don't do that. Now stand still," she says, using needle and threat to fix the last few adjustments so that the garment fits perfectly.

"Why can't an  _actual_   _girl_  do this?" he asks pitifully. "Why _me_?"

"Because I know I can trust you, and the King agreed," Morgana replies, smiling smugly though the boy can't see that. "And we do share the same colouring."

She's certain that the manservant is pouting. "But what if I get recognized! What if they discover I'm male! I probably look absolutely ridiculous and ugly anwyay! What if-"

"Calm down, Merlin. It'll be fine. You won't be unprotected; Uther has put up certain precautions, there are guards down this whole corridor, and guards will escort you everywhere – no one will think it's actually  _you_. And we'll do everything we can to stop you from being actually hurt: no assassins will touch you. Even Uther's sworn this, and you know he's as pigheaded as his son, even worse. And Arthur won't leave you out of sight, I'm sure. Don't worry." Morgana smirks slightly. "And I am certain you don't look ridiculous, or ugly. Anyone thinking that must be out of their minds." (And if they did they might suddenly be standing at swordpoint in front of a certain angered lady. Or possibly angered prince, because anyone insulting Merlin in any manner should, in case the prince is notified of such an awful event, fear for their lives.)

It's almost frightening how quickly the lady's mood can change, from demanding and not to mess with, to gentle and kind, and back again in the blink of an eye.

Gwen finishes her needlework, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "There, all done." She gathers her things, promising shortly start working on the other dresses; she just needs to fetch some extra thread. At hearing that, Merlin blanches.

"Others?" he asks, close to tears, as he's pulled out so that Morgana can examine the results. By her expression, Merlin can tell she's very pleased, but how she can be that when he feels like an idiot he has no idea.

"Don't worry, just a handful. You're supposed to be a lady, and they don't walk around wearing the same dress for a full week. We have to make it  _convincing_ , don't we?"

Merlin buries his face in his hands despairingly, and Morgana pulls out another garment from the wardrobe, holding it up with narrowed eyes. "Hmm. Not the right colour..."

What god up there has punished him like this, forced him into this suffering? What has he done? And what on made Arthur agree on this plan anyway? Yeah - he was surely a prat again. An arrogant dollophead not caring for his manservant's suffering and humiliation.

He looks at Morgana pleadingly: "But, but I don't know anything about being a…a lady, about behavior or talking like a lady or  _anything_   _like that_!" He nearly starts to hyperventilate.

"That won't be a problem," Morgana fills in smoothly, "because  _I_ am going to teach you."

()()()

Arthur spends a whole day sulking outside Morgana's chamber doors. Not that he'd ever call it sulking. More like … generally standing around grimacing and glaring at whoever walks past, and feeling in a rather gloomy mood. Yes. He's merely annoyed, that's all. What on earth flew into Morgana to suggest that  _Mer_ lin,  _ **his**_   _Merlin_ , dress up and pretend to be her for the following two weeks? And what in heaven made his father  _agree_  to it?

They could have come up with some other plan to protect Morgana! Merlin shouldn't be put in danger like that!  _Stupid Morgana. Stupid dress-up plans that father agrees to. Grrr. Stupid visiting lords...! Shouldn't let them come here. Why won't father listen to reason? Argh._

The prince's brow wrinkles in an angry frown as he proceeds to glare the door into splinters.

 _He_  is Merlin's master.  _He_  is Merlin's prince. And  _he_  is the  _only one_  to make decisions like these regarding Merlin! Not Morgana, not the king -  **him**! Yet they won't listen, won't pay heed to his protests or complains of how ridiculous idea this is, no, they just  _ignore him_  and Uther lets Morgana grab Merlin's wrists and lock him behind some stupid thick doors, and then they  _refuse to let Arthur in._

"Sire," the guard says for the umpteenth time, slightly nervous when he receives a cold glare; "I'm sorry but I cannot let you linger here. The King's orders. You must leave this corridor or we'll have to forcibly remove you."

With a sigh, squaring his shoulders, Arthur starts to walk away. Slowly. Hands clenched into fists. He doesn't say anything but the guard jumps out of the way, practically seeing the prince's anger radiating around him creating an oozing, terrifying aura.

(The prince is back on the same spot ten minutes later, stubbornly glaring at the wood separating him and his manservant.)

()()()

To his great disappointment, Arthur doesn't get the chance to see Merlin until lord Guthrie's entourage arrives many, many hours later. There's a dinner prepared for them: the smaller hall, where Uther keeps events like these, is full of candlelight and people and the smell of rich, good food, and wine – voices rise and fall in greetings and chitchat, although both Arthur and Uther's moods are stiff and doesn't exactly welcome the lord with open arms. Said lord doesn't seem to be aware of the dark looks Arthur sends at his back.

When the large oak doors open, breath is knocked out of Arthur's lungs.

It's Morgana. But it's not. It's Merlin, he can see that clearly, he knows the boy so well (and has silently memorized every angle of the beautiful face and high cheekbones) - it's Merlin, but at the same time ... it's not. It's very confusing. And he has to admit it might've been a clever plan so far since Merlin looks eerily like Morgana right now, and at the same time he  _definately_  looks like Merlin, skin pale and glowing in the candlelight, his cheekbones sharply but beautifully defined, lips painted with that red colour Morgana seem to favour. The clothes he's wearing is a gorgeous shade of blue.

Arthur never thought the warlock could wear that colour so well. Or a  _dress_  ... a dress that looks like that. Of course, Morgana - the clever mastermind behind this plan - must be the only reason he's wearing that dress. It's quite ... daring. Almost  _too_  daring to be honest (not that Arthur really minds seeing so much of Merlin's bare smooth skin or naked elbows) and Arthur's jaw works trying to form words, but no sound manages to get past his lips. One single thought works its way through Arthur's brain, which is experiencing an overload meltdown.

_Oh. My. God._

There's the faintest hint of nervousness, but it disappears quickly, and the steps grows more confident as 'Morgana' steps further into the room - every eye turns to look at the figure wide-eyed, almost like enchanted. There's a guard hovering discretely in the background, but Arthur doesn't notice. His gaze remains fixed on his amazingly transformed manservant.

And Arthur finds that the dress definitely  _is_  too daring when Merlin passes him (in the last minute Arthur remembers bowing his neck an inch in a show of respect, to keep up the pretense) and he sees just how low the juncture of the back of the dress goes, showing off at least half of Merlin's back and then some. It does take one's eyes from the rather flat front, but still. He looks very ...  _very_  ... uhmm.

All right, Arthur gives in, exhales (rather loudly) trying to keep himself in check. Merlin looks absolutely _gorgeous_. He's done something with his hair as well: it's the same dark colour, but seems a bit longer (now how that's possible, Arthur isn't quite sure; it must be either a trick of Morgana's, or Merlin's magic at work) and is put in some strange but attractive fashion. The dress is flowy and blue and cut low at some places and high in others, and everyone in the hall seems to have stopped to stare: women in jealousy, men in awe.

And then Arthur notices that damned lord Guthrie's  _leer._

It takes all of his self restraint to not march over and punch the guy in the face. He bites his cheek and his hands turns into fists, and he struggles to simply stand still.

It also takes a moment for king Uther to react; but everyone seems so taken by the entrance to notice the one-second-too-long delay before he greets the 'lady'. "Lady Morgana. You look lovely tonight."

Merlin blushes like a fool, and sounds a bit faint, but manages to courtesy without stumbling and falling flat on his face. "Th-thank you sire."

It is kind of hard to pretend to be the beloved ward of the King Who Beheads People With Magic when you're one of the strongest magical beings ever to exist. And harder to take seat next to said king and answer to conversation and smile like nothing's wrong and that he's not, in fact, a servant boy pretending to be a lady. At least Gwaine, who's familiar and kind, is sitting on his other side.

Everyone else find their seats, hushed voices fading away; king Uther stands to hold a welcome speech (which Merlin doesn't listen to, too distracted by all the eyes on him and the silky smooth feel of fabric against his thighs and other little things like that, making it difficult to keep his face straight and guarded, and not start chewing his bottom lip anxiously. He's certain that Lady Morgana never would show nervousness like that).

The food is then brought out. Merlin's mouth waters. Of course, he's seen the kind of food royals eat before. He serves it to Arthur all the time, and he's been standing in the corner to enough feasts to know that half of that food will remain untouched by the royals, who are too full to eat anymore, and then it'll be either thrown away or, if they're lucky, some of the servants or kitchen staff may taste it. But Merlin's never eaten food like that, and he's sure he'll never it anything like it again. It smells amazing. And so many kinds of it! Meat, fish, fruits, greens, delicacies. And lots and lots of wine. And to think he's able to taste it all!

If he's going to sit here and suffer, at least he'll be able to eat his fill while doing so.

"Isn't it weird?" Gwaine whispers from the corner of his mouth, distracting Merlin from the overfilled plates.

"...huh?"

"I mean," Gwaine says, lowering his voice even more so they won't be overheard; "Being-a-girl-even-if-it's-pretend ... isn't it weird?"

Merlin glances at him. "Um, yeah, no, I mean - it's strangely okay, it's not  _completely_  awful," he says uncertainly, because even if it's embarrassing and a bit uncomfortable, a small part of him can't help but enjoy being in the spotlight of such attention, and he feels ...  _attractive_  in a way he's never before felt. And then Arthur's been staring at him for the past fifteen minutes in a way which causes Merlin to constantly blush, as well. Which isn't very bad at all.

Gwaine grins and raises his cup. "So it's all right then!" Obviously he needs to work on this discreet thing, because he raises his voice so everyone at the table can hear. And the people smile and agree with the knight, when he says; "Good folk! We should cheer! Cheer to the wealth of Camelot, and to our guests, and of course to the lovely lady sitting here next to me. To the lady Morgana!"

"Lady Morgana!" echoes around the hall merrily, cups clinkering together and wine sloshing dangerously close over the brim. Merlin squirms in his seat, trying to sink into it and disappear, but it doesn't work. Why is everyone  _staring_  at him?

As he takes seat, Gwaine looks rather smug.

"Why did you do that?" Merlin whispers, eyes wide. "Now they're all _looking at me_!"

The knight briefly lays a hand on Merlin's arm, like a pat. "Oh, no reason, no reason ..." Gwaine responds mysteriously, ignoring how the prince is glaring daggers at him.

Merlin's gaze flickers around the hall. People have resumed eating and talking now but there a few eyes lingering on him. Arthur stares right back at him. Merlin really wishes he could have sat beside the Prince instead of the King ... he doesn't feel quite safe here. After a moment of staring, Arthur's face flushes, the prince squirming and Merlin feels a blush creep up his cheeks, and he averts his gaze.

The other pair of eyes on him are dark and cold and Merlin flinches, returning his focus to his plate. It's lord Guthrie. Merlin doesn't like the looks the man is giving him. Not at all.

()()()

It feels like hours before dinner is finally over, and the king stands. Merlin feels mentally exhausted, trying to sit there and smile and pretend to be fine when in fact he's terrified because he's sitting right next to the man who kills his kin, and has an overly talkative knight on his other side. (Gwaine's had so many cups of wine now there's a distinctive slur and nobody has gotten his jokes since the mention of the goat, and Merlin is subtly inching away from king Uther, because Gwaine is still a lot less horrifying.) People starts filing out of the hall. For a moment, Merlin's mind struggles to remember what Morgana had told him eight hours earlier about court and a proper lady's manners; is he supposed to linger with the king or can he take his leave or must he excuse himself first...?

"Are you all right?"

Merlin startles at the voice. He's not heard it for hours, and when he hears it he realizes he's kind of missed that voice's presence. "Y-yeah. Fine," he murmurs. Arthur's got an odd look, his smile tense, jaw clenched and he sounds slightly strained.

"Let me escort you back to your chambers."

"Okay."

Arthur gives him a pointed look, and it takes a couple of seconds before Merlin reacts and loops his arm around the Prince's offered one. No one raises an eyebrow, not even the king but Merlin tries not to delve on it. Instead, he lets Arthur lead him out of the hall, through the darkened corridors: evening has fallen, and the only light is provided by torches and candles. It's nice, this; walking so close to Arthur and the Prince's heat radiating around him and the feel of smooth silk against his skin; Merlin doesn't mind that the Prince pulls him closer and closer, their arms and legs brushing.

However, he feels Arthur tense up after a while and his breathing is rather short. "Arthur?" he asks quietly. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine. Here we are," Arthur says quickly to avoid the subject. It's wierd to lead his manservant to  _Morgana's chambers_ , of all places. (He usually avoids this part of the castle as much as he can. And he'd rather prefer leading Merlin to  _the Prince's chambers_...) He pushes open the doors, then pauses in his tracks seeing a horde of maidservants waiting in the room: the fire's going, and nightclothes are being laid out.

One with some fabric tied around her hair, concealing it, approaches them with a faint smile on her lips. "Have you enjoyed your evening, Prince Arthur?"

The prince startles as he recognizes the voice. "Mor-" Arthur cuts himself off. There's a risk they're being overheard or watched. "I mean ..."

Morgana catches on and smoothly fills in: "Mori, that's my name. I'm glad you remember, _sire_." (With her sarcasm like that she sound really like an uncanny female version of Merlin when the manservant is in a bad mood, only a lot worse. Arthur shudders. Hopefully, hopefully Guthrie will leave Camelot soon. Maybe Arthur could come up with a good excuse to make said lord leave in a hasty manner ... )

Merlin's jaw works trying to form words, as he stares into the room, not listening to the prince and lady's conversation.

"Why ... why are all these maidservants here?" he asks finally, and Morgana _smiles._  Arthur recognizes it as her I-was-bored-and-needed-something-fun-to-do smile, which is also quite evil, and thinks he should fear for Merlin. He'll probably be subjected, the rest of the evening, to lots and lots of dresses and makeup and hair-styling and other girly things. He considers taking Merlin back to his own chambers, starting to steer Merlin away using their linked arms.

The women beats him to it, rushing forward and starting to fuss over Merlin who, to Arthur's annoyance, blushes and smiles nervously and lets them lead him into the room. Morgana smiles sweetly at the scowling prince. "We'll take it from here, Prince Arthur. The lady will be well taken care of."

"You, umm, don't have to do that," Merlin stutters when one of the women tugs him over to the vanity table chattering about hair and dresses. "I'll be fine doing it myself, really..." But his words are ignored.

Arthur doesn't look too convinced, but the doors is shut and locked in his face. He's sure that it's Morgana's faint laugh he can hear through the wood.  _Damn it._

()()()

Merlin doesn't feel too convinced.

The nightgown feels far too decorative and thin and soft, so smooth it's like wearing nothing so he keeps smoothing the material against his sides just to make sure it's still there. And the white embroidered ... stockings ...  _things_  Morgana has forced him to wear in addition to the short nightgown, leaving half of his thighs bare, makes his face keeps flushing because he's wearing something like that. It just doesn't seem all  _that_ necessary to keep up the charade.

But Morgana is stubborn and has handpicked these handmaidens just like the clothes, and therefore (though they take pity and pat his head like he was a kicked puppy) they won't let him wear something _simple_  to bed and they keep fussing over him with small smiles on their faces. It takes seemingly  _hours_  before the maids leave, with the promise to be back tomorrow morning with a hot refreshing bath.

"Is all this really necessary?" Merlin asks carefully as he's shooed into the bed. Admittedly it's kind of nice; he's never felt so pampered in his life, and the bed is very comfortable: he sinks into it with a sigh of pleasure. It's a huge difference from where he usually sleeps. But still. The whole day has been rather overwhelming, and sleeping like he would in his own chambes would at least bring  _some_  normality into the evening. He looks at Morgana pleadingly. "I could sleep on the floor or something, I shouldn't-"

Morgana gives him a disapproving glare, so Merlin wisely shuts up.

Eventually it's just him and a candle on the nightstand left. Unable to resist, Merlin snuggles into the pillows. Within minutes he's fast asleep.

()()()

Morning dawns bright and cheerful. Well, for some people anyway.

"Er," Merlin says. "Is ... is it really necessary?"

Morgana rolls her eyes. "You can't feel that fresh from yesterday night and you want to make a good impression, don't you? Walking into the great hall stinking and with yesterday's makeup still on your face won't do that."

In vain, Merlin tries to cover his body, clinging to the towel and inching backwards, but Morgana grabs his upper arm with a surprisingly strong voice. "Honestly," she says with shake of her head. "Don't be so modest. I can't see what's there to be ashamed of." She shares a look with the two maids present, "Why don't you fetch more water?"

The maids nod as one and stifle their giggles as they exit the room.

Somehow Morgana manages to coax Merlin into the bathtub, turning her back briefly to give him enough privacy to move. She hides her smug smirk as she turns around, when Merlin sinks into the water, so that she won't embarrass him  _too much_. Oh, the boy is so innocent, it's a wonder he's made it this far in Camelot without getting deflowered by one of the knights, more forward citadel guards or the Prince - though it might have something to do with said prince's threat to cut off the crown jewels of whoever dares lay a hand on his manservant.  _Oh, Arthur,_  Morgana thinks.  _You never fail to amuse me._

There's a knock on the door. A muffled voice carries through it. "Mer- err, Morgana, may I come in?"

With a sharp intake of breath, Merlin wraps his arms around his torso and pushes his knees up tightly against his chest, frantically hissing "No! Don't open, please!" - pleading and red-faced. Morgana smirks and opens the door a few inches, not enough for anyone passing by in corridor to see into the room clearly, but Arthur stands right on the doorstep and from this angle he gets a glimpse of a pair of naked, wet knees glistening in the candlelight. He swallows audibly.

"Sire, what a  _surprise_ ," 'Mori the handmaiden' greets him. "The lady is currently occupied with her bath."

Arthur does not try to look behind Morgana, at the tub from where he can hear movements of water and an inquiring, "Arthur? Is that you?"

"Oh - I, err, I shall get going, uhm. Yes. I'll, err, see you later."

Arthur does absolutely  _not_  steal a glance over his shoulder as he turns and leave. Absolutely. Not.

()()()

What is it with the court and feasts?

They never seem to get enough of them, these royals. Merlin thinks they ought to have a grand headache after so much wine, and they shouldn't be able to stomach all that food, but seemingly they can't get enough of either. It's not humanly  _sane_.

Tonight it will be even grander; with music and song and a longer night than the previous, so the dress Merlin is presented with is even more decorative than the one he wore yesterday. All right, he must admit, it is very beautiful and the fabric looks so fine, he barely dares to touch it. (But since Morgana threatens to force him into the hall in  _nothing_  if he doesn't wear it, Merlin complies. Morgana is dangerous when she's angry.)

"It suits you so well," the handmaiden gushes, a happy grin on her face as she holds up the flowy garment against Merlin's body. It's not Morgana, but one of the many girls who've gladly accepted to help him this week: she's incredibly energetic and chipper, a girl Merlin normally would've liked talking to and being friends with, but his situation is too awkward now for him to share the girl's enthusiasm.

"The colour matches your eyes so well and I love the details. Gwen has truly undone herself this time!"

Somehow he manages to put it on, but it's quite a struggle. Noticing how long he's taking behind the dressing screen, the maiden hurries to help with the lacings and Merlin can't for the world understand why women wears these kind of complicated things  _every day_ , and he's incredibly glad he doesn't have to help Arthur into this because it'd take ages to figure things out. (Besides, imagining Arthur in a dress is  _weird,_ to understate matters.)

At least there's just  _one_  maid and not a horde of them. They're all nice and Merlin recognizes half of them, having seen them around the castle before, but doesn't know them very well and it's, well, awkward having a group of almost-strangers help you squeeze into female articles of clothing.

Honestly. He deserves a pay rise and a long holiday without weird things happening.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Please, stay here, I'll be back in a minute." Suddenly the handmaiden rushes out of the room and Merlin is left seated at the vanity table. Now when no one is there to reprimand him, he absently scratches that itchy spot in his side, idly wondering what Arthur is doing right now.

Does another servant cater him now that Merlin is unavailable? Hopefully it's not a too good servant. Not that Merlin has anything against any other servants, but what if Arthur realizes how quiet and obedient other servants can be compared to Merlin and decides to replace him permanently? Or what if the temporary servant can't find his red jacket for tonight, or serves him wine to breakfast every morning? Arthur _hates_  having wine for breakfast. He'll be insufferable if he drinks too early or if his precious clothing goes astray.

Oh, the warlock just wants to leave this room and hurry to Arthur's chambers to make sure the prat isn't putting on his clothes inside out and that his armour is polished and that he's comfortable so he won't be too hard on the knights during training, and maybe,  _maybe_  just a little he wants to make tiny sabotages for the temporary servant, to assure he'll keep his position after this whole craziness is over. If it's ever over. Anxiously, Merlin bites his bottom lip. There has been no word that lord what's-his-face will leave Camelot anytime in the near future. What if this lasts for weeks or  _months_?

A couple of minutes later, the woman returns with sir Gwaine in tow. The knight eyes Merlin like in shock, and the maid is forced to nudge his side to pull him out of his dreamlike state. The man coughs pointedly behind a hand. "Mori asked me to escort you to the hall. If you let me, m'lady?"

Merlin wrinkles up his nose at the title. "Yes, but drop the lady thing,  _please._  I'm being humiliated enough as it is!"

Gwaine, having resumed his usual posture, grins and sidles over to the table. Casually he picks up a small flower from one of the many bouquets spread about the room, and places it behind Merlin's ear, causing the warlock to blush. "I wouldn't dare offend you." He offers his arm gentlemanly, winking. "M'lady? May I escort you to the Hall?"

Unable to resist, the servant hits his arm. "I said you'd drop that!"

He doesn't acknowledge his blush or the flower, because the though just makes him blush  _more_.

"Can't help it," the knight says, defending himself. "Not when there is a lovely lady in front of me."

With a sigh, Merlin takes the stubbornly held out arm. Gwaine is hopeless sometimes. Merlin guesses he'll have some harsh weeks ahead trying to pick up the shreds of his dignity and put them together. The pair takes their leave, the maid lingering behind giggling as she lays out the 'lady's' nightgown on the bed. She's got a feeling that tonight is going to be exciting.

()()()

Dinner is nice. The food is warm and perfect and Merlin tastes some flavours he's never had the chance to before. This time he got a seat between the King and sir Leon, and Leon never gets as drunk as Gwaine which is nice, although Merlin is starting to get tired of being called lady and having the men fuss over him, offer him their arms and pull out chairs for him and whatnot, and Merlin's face still has an awful habit of getting red and hot. But all in all it's not bad.

But then three musicians picks up their instruments and the king stands to announce it's time for dancing.  _Dancing._  Merlin never thought there'd be dancing! Morgana hasn't taught him anything about it and he's never danced in his entire life! Just how is he supposed to do this without looking like a bumbling fool?

Maybe he could just sit here and smile and look happy, and people will ignore him? Hopefully. So he tries that tactic, looking as small and unimportant as possible, sinking into the chair. Smile, smile.

Arthur immediately notices, when seeing that everyone else have stood and reached the dance floor while Merlin remains sitting.

"May," the prince says with a hint of nervousness, "may I have a dance with you?"

Merlin smiles awkwardly. "Thanks, but, I'd rather not."

"Nonsense," Arthur says, waving a hand. He persistently holds out his other for the servant to take. "I'm sure you're a good dancer - better than most peasants, anyway." It sounds like somewhere between an insult and compliment in true Arthur-fashion. When Merlin doesn't agree or respond, Arthur presses on; "Fine, I could always let someone else dance with you. I don't care. And not when you step on their feet, it's your problem, their problem, not mine."

Merlin looks at him hoping to convey that he's  _not_  good and would most of all like to retire or sink into the ground, but Arthur doesn't get it. " _Come on_  then." And Arthur doesn't admit it out loud, but he's getting very impatient now, and he nudges Merlin's chair with his foot.

With a sigh, he takes the offered hand. It's warm and the palm fits neatly with his, fingers entwining.

"I'll look like an idiot," Merlin mutters, reluctantly letting the prince lead him to the open floor where the tables have been cleared from the area. He's too annoyed to notice the expression of triumph on Arthur's face. "If I fall flat on my face, it's  _your_  fault. Completely your fault. Just like this stupid plan ..."

Arthur grins. "You'll be fine. Here, lay a hand on my shoulder." Merlin does and the prince grabs his other hand, and guides him into the beat of the music: at least it's slow a dance - any faster and Merlin would've tangled his legs together at once. People keep looking at them and Merlin lowers his eyes, trying to avoid the gazes. (Is there something on his face? Is he doing this wrong? He really must be looking like an idiot ... )

After a while, he finds himself relaxing. It's not that bad, really. The music flows around him and Arthur doesn't complain (much) when Merlin accidentally (for the third time) steps on his foot (the "Why are you bumbling so much? Watch your step!" doesn't count). Somehow they manage to go through the whole song without crashing into another dancing couple or a piece of furniture. The dress tonight is wide and soft and he doesn't have to take such short, restricting steps and the fabric isn't itchy against his skin: in fact, he rather likes it, the silk pressing against his body and the gentle, firm grip of his hand and the palm resting against the low of his back, slowly inching him closer to the prince's body, ghosting their forms together, their contours fitting almost perfectly. No, it's not bad at all, even if Arthur still is a prat.

One song passes into another and the minutes trickle together, and Arthur shows no sign of letting him go. Merlin doesn't mind, and when he glances up at the prince, seeing Arthur looking back at him with half-closed, intense eyes, he has this sudden silly urge to maybe press himself flush close against the prince so he can feel the buds on Arthur's jacket through the dress, and touch the man's strong chin with his lips-

Blushing furiously, Merlin tears his gaze away, turning to look in some other direction. Why was he thinking that? Arthur didn't ... No, the prat probably just was dancing with him to keep up the charade or ... something. Arthur wouldn't like if Merlin ... It didn't make sense if he would!

At the end of the fifth song, unwillingly Merlin edges out of the prince's grip, the thoughts refusing to let him go. A shadow passes over Arthur's face. "Merlin?" the prince whispers so that no one else can hear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I-I'm tired," Merlin says feebly. "Could we stop? Please?"

Arthur doesn't look pleased and suddenly, he's tense, almost like he's angry. But he concedes. "All right."

When his hands drop, they leave a rapidly growing cold, shadowy imprint of a touch on Merlin's waist; Merlin wants his hands back there, where they felt good, like they belonged. Only, such a thought doesn't help his blush or awkwardness and his embarrassment heightens when, as he takes seat by the table again, the King notices and asks if he's all right. At Merlin's quick nod, Uther smiles kindly (it's a kind of scary look on his face, to Merlin) like sensing that he's absolutely not all right, and suggests Merlin should retire. The servant jumps at the chance of escape.

"I'll let my son escort you to your chambers," the King says, and Merlin's pulse picks up and his palms go sweaty and hot-cold-hot. But Uther is the king so he can't protest, even when Arthur smirks smugly as he offers his arm to the 'lady'.

"This is your fault," Merlin mutters quietly. "You prat."

()()()

"We'll take it from here, sire," the handmaiden says when they appear in the doorway five minutes later. The girl isn't quite able to conceal her giggle at seeing the prince's hand entwined with Merlin's.

Arthur slowly lets him go. "Of course. I, uhm." Eyes flickering to meet Merlin's. "Good night."

"… Good night, Arthur."

()()()

Getting out of the dress is as much of a fight as it was getting into it. Merlin can't understand how women stand all these complicated procedures. Eventually he's clad in a nightgown and the candles are being put out. The maid keeps chattering and asks about the feasts. Word by word she even manages to make Merlin talk about the dancing, and his thoughts starts wandering, so he might have admitted that bit about Arthur being a dollophead out loud. The maid smiles and insert comments and giggles in moments that makes Merlin's blush worse, and he wonders if he'll any day be able to forget about these last few horrible (or not so horrible) days.

He crawls into the bed, burying his face in the pillows. They're so soft and comfortable. Could he convince the prince to give him a pay rise after this is over, maybe? Then he could afford buying a pillow like this. Mmm.

The handmaiden blows out of the last candle and leaves, the door gently clicking shut. After a couple of minutes, Merlin starts shifting. He can't sleep, lingering between dreams and wakefulness for several minutes. There's ... something. Like. A feeling, slowly creeping up on him, up his spine, chilling him; he hugs the covers closer, eyes opening. The room is dark and foreboding, and he feels suddenly very lonely and vulnerable.

Abruptly, he tenses up. There. A rustle! Cloth being moved, something moving. Nearby. Merlin gulps, and slowly begins to turn, gaze searching the chamber wildly for any kind of sign, but there's nothing. Nothing ... His shoulders relax.  _There's nothing ..._

Another rustle, faint but still there. Merlin doesn't dare to breath. His neck turns so he's looking directly upwards, into the canopy of the curtained bed.

He barely has time to react as he sees the knife.

()()()

He might have lingered far longer than he should have outside the lady's chamber doors before starting to walk back to the feast, but he could not help it, and afterwards he's very glad he did.

When the shriek reaches his ears, Arthur jerks into action, grabbing his sword and rushing through the corridors retracing his footsteps. He calls for the guards to help him: they leave their posts and are right on his heels when he slams open the door to Morgana's chambers, thundering into the room, sword glinting dangerously and eyes burning with concern, ire.

" **Merlin**!" he shouts, heart in his throat; "Are you all ri-iii-..."

The prince's words die on his lips, eyes widening as he sees the servant, and the guards does too, first stopping instinctively as their commander does. But then they see what Arthur sees. The nightgown has slipped from the left shoulder and Merlin's arms are bare, just like his thighs, but from beneath the blankets Arthur can see the beginning of pair of long beautiful legs, wearing some kind of stockings that still reveals skin through the embroidery. Merlin grabs for the blanket, pulling it closer up to his body. "A-Arthur," he squeaks.

"Uh - there's - err, y-you screamed. Err, intruder," Arthur manages to gasp out. He exhales, inhales deeply and turns his head sharply toward the guards, glaring when seeing their blatant stares. He points at the unconscious body by the foot of the bed. "You two! Grab him and take him to the dungeons immediately."

"Yessire!"

The guards scurry to comply, partly because of the Stare-one-moment-longer-and-I'll-gauge-your-eyes-out-glare which the prince sends them, which could easily send them to their too-early deaths.

Finally, Arthur manages to take in the rest of the scene: the rumpled bedding, the pillow on the floor next to the assassins' head, the fallen candle-stand, the ripped bed curtains. The knife buried in the mattress, in the centre where the bed's occupant was resting just minutes ago. Horrified, Arthur asks; "What happened?"

"I'd just fallen asleep when I heard this noise, and I looked up and he was kind of ... hanging in the ceiling above me. Brandishing a knife. So, I, well ...you know." The warlock gestures at the ceiling above the bed, visible between layers of curtains. There's an odd human-shaped burn-mark staining the stone; Merlin makes a sign Arthur thinks he's supposed to interpret as 'magic' but it could as well mean 'fireworks' or 'donkey' - "And then he fell down and I knocked him out will a pillow."

"You defeated him ...  _with a pillow_?"

"Err, yeah. But it worked!"

Normally Arthur would've smacked his lips and shook his head at the servant's incredulous ways, but now Merlin is sitting there dressed so skimpily and the prince has a strong urge to run his hands over those beautiful half-naked legs, so his response is more of a croak than anything. "Idiot," he mutters, walking forward unable to hinder himself.

Merlin's skin is very smooth, warm and soft beneath his palm. He runs his thumb in circles on the right thigh, just above the stocking, the edge of his palm catching the material. He pauses briefly when he notices Merlin's hitching breath and looks up to see the servant's eyes flicker closed. Liking this reaction and thus growing bolder, Arthur lowers his head to kiss the spot he just touched, and Merlin mewls and melts beneath him. "A-Arthur."

The prince presses feather light kisses up the thigh and reaches the edge of the nightgown, nose brushing into silk, but just then footsteps echo in the corridor. Arthur forces himself up and distances himself quickly, neck warm and spine tingling but he manages to put himself together enough to not give away any hints of what's been going on; Merlin isn't that good at hiding stuff, especially with a heavy blush like that, and he feebly wraps the covers around himself again.

"Sire! We heard-!" Gwaine, Leon, Percival and seemingly the whole group of Knights of the Round Table are suddenly crowding the doorway. "Is everything all right?" Leon asks, seeing the mess of the room.

Arthur's voice is firm and professional. "Yes, everything is fine now."

"Merlin! You're not hurt are you?" Percival asks worriedly.

The warlock shakes his head, still trembling from the prince's unexpected touches. "I'm fine."

The knight however mistakes his tiny shaking and wavering voice as fear and strides into the room, reaching the bed with three steps; "We should get you to Gaius." He grows pale when seeing the knife. "Right now." He makes to lift Merlin up but Arthur beats him to it, one arm slipping beneath Merlin's knees, the other around his shoulders.

Admittedly, it's kind of nice to be carried like this. Not though as much when he's dressed like this and has no cover anymore and the knights are staring at him. Arthur senses the tensing of Merlin's posture and drapes his jacket over Merlin, covering as much as possible, and walks as quickly as he can. When they enter the physician's chambers, Gaius is already awake, and doesn't even look surprised.

"Is anyone injured?" he asks. "Merlin?"

"I'm fine," Merlin says indignantly, arms crossed. Arthur puts him down on the bed in front of the hearth, his hand lingering on Merlin's knee.

"I never trust that word, especially when he's saying it," the prince mutters.

"I'm _fine_. The knife barely touched me." He shows his wrist, because there's the tiniest of scratches, it's hardly a nick in the skin. But, of course, that doesn't help to soothe anyone at all.

Elyan, Leon and Gaius (who hasn't heard all details yet) go berserk, of course. "Knife? There was a _knife_?" and Gwaine threatens to cut off the assassin's limbs one by one and offers to do the interrogations himself, which Arthur doesn't agree to because that'd not lead them anywhere, only leave them with a mutilated body. No, they need strong evidence that this is Lord Guthrie's work, thus they need the assassin  _alive._  (Even if Arthur would like the assassin dead and Lord Guthrie to burn in the fires of the prince's wrath.)

The physician takes the wrist, muttering, "I'll put a salve on this." Then he turns to search through one of the shelves.

"I'm all right."

"Just sit and do as the physician says,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur says, pushing Merlin back when the servant attempts to stand.

"I don't need getting patched up."

Gaius returns with the salve and makes a shoo-shoo-motion with his hands, herding the knights toward the door. "Out you lot. I have no room here for a bunch of knights."

"But," Arthur says - he's cut off.

"You should go and inform your father, sire, of these events."

The prince nods distractedly, "Yes," and glances at his manservant. "You'll make sure he's ... Right, Gaius?"

The physician nods gravely. "I will, sire. You needn't worry." The words are serious and a promise Arthur will hold him to, so, certain that Merlin is in safe hands, Arthur takes his leave (leaving a guard behind. Just in case.)

"I'm  _fine_ , Gaius!" Merlin says for the umpteenth time, "Arthur is just exaggerating. I'm not hurt." Why isn't anybody listening to him? The knights, the prince, Gaius - they're all so _stubborn_! He's fine; he can't even feel the small injury, so why do they have to make such a fuss about it? "Argh, why are you making such a big deal out of it? I'm not weak you know, I defended myself, I defeated the assassin! Can't you just listen to me for once without - ouch! That  _stings_."

He's ignored. Gaius rubs the salve onto the skin, causing it to itch and pain slightly. When Merlin raises his hand to scratch at it the physician stops him with a stern look.

"This is all the prat's fault," Merlin mutters darkly. "I could've had a normal week, and instead I'd to get forced into dresses and makeup and dances with dollophead. This is so stupid. Why couldn't they've picked a real girl instead of me? It'd be so much simpler. And then I'd not be blushing all the time and people wouldn't look at me so much."

"I'm not sure, Merlin," his mentor replies, not able to hide his amusement. This whole thing is quite hilarious. He's not seen events this bemusing and exciting for years. This will be a fond memory, and he's sure that in a few years Merlin will realize this too. "I think you've played the part extremely well. It's not every day you get a chance of defeating an assassin while wearing women's clothing."

"That's exactly the problem! Because of these stupid clothes people will never treat me normally again! Can I get out of this now? Please?" Merlin asks pleadingly, tugging at his clothes.

He's not mentioning the fact they feel quite good against his skin and he feels actually _beautiful_ in it, and that he quite likes the way Arthur looks at him when he's wearing this stuff. No, he doesn't want to think about that, or his ears will soon fall off because of overheating. "Where are my regular clothes? And my neckerchief? I need my neckerchief."

Gaius raises a curious eyebrow. "Now?"

"Yes, _now_!"

()()()

The following few days are very strange. His old clothes are back and he's sleeping in his real chambers and once again eating Gaius' gruel (and Arthur's leftovers). None of it can really compare to the smooth silks and warm beddings and people's general fussing over him of the last few day. He kind of ... misses it. A little bit.

The touches, however, are still there. Arthur's hand lingering on his lower back. Arthur coming up to him not to berate but to stroke his arm or, like yesterday, gently touch his cheek, his jaw. Sometimes Merlin wonders what's going through the prince's head. The gazes still are there. Not only from Arthur, though, but from practically the whole court.

Merlin isn't sure which one is first: Camelot learning that lord Guthrie tried to murder lady Morgana, or Camelot learning that lady Morgana was in fact Merlin pretending to be her and thus saving her life.

Anyhow, soon enough both of these facts spread through the court and the rest of the city like wild fire through grass, and two days after lord Guthrie's punishment, Merlin can't walk through a corridor without having people walking up to him and thanking him, or in some men's case, complimenting him. It's actually flirting, but Merlin doesn't catch on, much to the men's disappointment. The head cook, who usually chases him around with the rolling pin, now lets him be in her kitchen as much as he wants and this morning he was presented with a bucketload of sweet pastries just for him.

At first it's confusing, but not bad, to finally be recognized for something (even if he'd rather be recognized as Prince Arthur's saviour thanks to him being a powerful warlock and doing epic things, than as a crossdressing manservant). The King himself has been acting weird and kind after this. But after a while, Merlin starts getting ... edgy with the whole affair; he doesn't mind people being nice to him, but why they have the need to mention dresses all the time is beyond him, and he just wants an afternoon in peace without people bestowing him with gifts and thanks left and right.

So when Merlin finds the parcel on his bed, he's not completely startled.

"Who's this from?" he wonders aloud, searching around and eventually finding a note, which only states ' _Use with care. -G &M'. _Intrigued, Merlin opens it.

It's a dress. Several of them in fact. All the garments he's worn when posing as a lady. He's shocked, but can't subdue the thrill rushing through his body and with an excited squeal, he picks the first garment up (the long, red one) and holds it close against his body, the silk very inviting, and he glances at the door: Gaius is out on errands, and he's got an hour or so before he should be serving Arthur: he's got a few minutes to try them out ...

This is how Arthur finds him, an hour later, yelling while looking for his wayward servant: Merlin, trying to tie some difficult silky laces with the help of a knob in the wall.

"Merl...! Oh. _Oh_."

The prince grabs his unhinged jaw and pushes it back into place, and Merlin fails to hide his blush. "Err...Arthur," he squeaks. "I. Uhm." he gestures at the opened parcel, hoping to convey that  _It's a gift and I couldn't help myself._

Then Arthur says, "You're supposed to bring me dinner." It's somewhat far-away. The prince's eyes are fixed on the servant's neckline.

"Err. Sorry I'm late."

"But ... That's all right. Very much all right - I'll find my own meal," the prince murmurs and closes the door. It clicks shut and Merlin finds himself frozen and then Arthur's hands are resting on his hips, warm and broad and Merlin feels all tingly and hot, thinking about other places those hands could be. "You surprise me sometimes, Merlin. Really, you do. You're far a better lady than I could ever have imagined..."

"... thanks? I guess ..."

"But never,  _never_  agree to such a stupid plan again," Arthur says heatedly, clasping Merlin's hands in his own tightly. "I don't want to risk you getting hurt."

The servant opens his mouth to complain that it's actually  _Arthur's fault_  he was in that position to begin with, and that as a servant he can't really disobey an order from the King without dire consequences, is drowned in a soaring kiss.

This lady business isn't so bad after all.


	25. Leave Camelot On Long-Term Journeys (Without Arthur)

"I just received a letter from my mother," Merlin says as he sets out breakfast for the prince, including that fruit juice he knows Arthur craves on mornings after long harsh training with the knights. "She's feeling a bit under the weather, and I haven't seen her in awhile. So I wondered if I can go visit her. Just for a week or so. I miss her terribly."

"Of course," Arthur says with a smile. He can't refuse Merlin a request like that even if he prefers having the warlock nearby: a mother is important, and he's met Merlin's. Hunith is a remarkable woman, strong, independent, sharing support and love without question or doubt. When helping Ealdor to get rid of the bandits last year she'd treated Arthur almost like a second son, or at least a nephew, ignoring his status - treating him like a man, not a prince.

She's much like her son, actually, with that I-don't-care-if-you're-royal attitude, but without calling him a prat. Not having grown up with a mother of his own, it had felt strange at first to be treated like that, but in the end Arthur had realized it was okay and maybe even wonderful. Arthur quite likes her (plus she's pretty much his mother-in-law … Or at least will be very, very soon, he's going to make sure of  _that_!) and is genuinely interested in her wellbeing. So hearing she's ill rattles him a bit.

"Of course," he repeats. "Stay as long as you need. Make sure she recovers. And, umm. Err, never mind." He halts, awkwardness suddenly coming over him. It's not like he's admitted to anybody that he cares about his manservant's mother.

"I'll say hello from you," Merlin says with a grin, adding a teasing, "Since you're too much of a prat to do it yourself, sire."

The prince nods, thankful for the servant's ability to perceive him when Arthur can't form words. Thinking about it, it's almost eerie how well Merlin actually knows him. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Don't forget to polish my armour before you go. Or pack well enough provisions. Take it from the royal kitchens; tell them it's on me. God knows what Hunith will think if she sees how thin you are."

Later, he admits that he might've spent that afternoon staring out of his window after Merlin's back as he rides out of Camelot and beyond, and continuing to stand there, thinking, _The idiot won't be gone that long; I can do fine without him. It'll be fine, it's only for a week. It's not like it's for a month or a year or anything. Only for a week ..._

()()()

_Considerably less than one week later..._

What is it with that manservant that makes him so  _insufferable?_

"Where are my boots? And my red jacket?" Arthur demands holding out a hand, and he wants to receive a responds like "You never learn to keep track of your own stuff, do you, prat" - but there's only a monotone "Here, sire."

Which is probably one third of the man's whole vocabulary. What's his name again? ... Something like ... George. Yeah. A  _rock_  is more lively and interesting than that man's personality.

Arthur grunts something dangerously like 'idiot' under his breath, and even if the servant hears, he's not berated, called a prat or arrogant or stupid or ANYTHING.

It's completely  **maddening**.

The servant is usually quiet and totally obedient. But when George starts talking, he starts talking about boring things in a monotone voice (usually about stuff like brass or rocks or the state of the room, but not in a berating manner, no, never, because he's a  _perfect servant_  and would  _never_  talk lowly about his master or his master's room) and always says 'sire', and never says or does anything that might anger anyone. Well, anyone who isn't Arthur.

At least when Merlin talks it's happily, jovially and about half-interesting things, and he asks of Arthur's honest opinion and tells Arthur in earnest that,  _Yes, the visiting lord is a pompous ass_  and  _No, you don't have to get what you want all the time, you're not worth that even if you're a prince_  - strangely wise things like that, which Arthur  _needs to hear_. It's reassuring, comforting, helpful in a time of stress or fear or uncertainty. And much of Merlin's babble also is quite adorable, even when it's about forest and squirrels and unicorns.

When George finally finds that damn jacket Arthur's already pulled on his spare one (which hasn't had its buttons polished yet) and with an angry sigh, the prince hefts his sword. The servant remains blank as he's given the duty to muck out the stables, like it's not in fact the worst, more tiresome duty a servant can get (and it's the third time in two days). Arthur marches out of the room, heading for the training fields. He needs to whack some dummies or newbie knights, get rid of all this frustration.

It's going to be a  _hell_  of a long week.

()()()

The days are so long, and the week never seems to end.

He's startled about that: he's always liked his village, and seeing his mother is wonderful. He's made sure she will recover, the illness minor. He's missed her so much and is relieved to finally be able to talk about everything that's happened in the last few months: adventures and mishaps and Arthur's prattish, bossing ways and the fear of being discovered as a warlock.

Yes, he enjoys himself immensely, and finds some actual relaxation time, spending time with the villagers sharing stories and jokes and laughter. But there's ...  _something._  Like an itch he cannot quite reach.

It takes nearly five days for him to realize. Something is  _missing_. Merlin feels happy in Ealdor, but not as happy and safe and  _content_  as in Camelot - there's something simply lacking. He feels it every morning as he wakes up feeling strangely alone, the room oddly cold, the food tastes plain and though birds are singing there's barely any sound. When looking at the fields around the village he gets suddenly reminded of golden hair and the rush of the wind reminds of a familiar voice, but it's not really there. Everything is just empty and distant and he's got this sudden urge to run back to Camelot, run, run back  _home._

These feelings confuses and scares him, makes him feel lost. Why is he feeling this way? Ealdor is his home! Is it not? This is the place of his mother, where he grew up, where his earliest precious memories are rooted. Yet ...

He can't stop thinking about it. His mother, of course, notices. "Merlin," she says nudging his shoulder gently. "What's on your mind? Something is clearly bothering you."

"Nothing..." Merlin mumbles, glancing through the window at the blue sky; the same blue sky a certain prince the same moment is watching just as longingly.  _Blue_  - it makes him think of eyes with the colour of the deepest ocean gazing at him earnestly, of a not-really-prattish grin and a hand taking his own ... Unknowingly he sighs, resting his chin his hand, unfocused of his surroundings.

"Nothing?"

"Just ... it feels like I'm missing something ... that's all."

He doesn't notice Hunith's knowing smile. "You have been here for a while now. I have recovered. Maybe it's time for you to go home, my son."

At this Merlin startles, twisting his head to look at his mother, eyes widening. "But  _this_  is my home!"

"Merlin," Hunith says, "I believe it's possible to have more than one home. And while you always will be welcomed here, your heart no longer truly belongs here. Is it not so?"

A faint blush rises to tinge his cheeks. Is he so obvious? "I...It's not like that, mother," he says feebly, hands falling, he doesn't know what to do with them. It's not like he doesn't care for Ealdor anymore, but there's just something ... he still loves the village and his mother, but he doesn't know how to say that he just doesn't fit in anymore; he doesn't want to hurt her, and his chest tightens, something dangerously close to longing overcoming him.

"It is," the woman says seriously. "Staying here any longer will make you unhappy. You want and you  _need_  to go back to Camelot, where you belong. With Prince Arthur. It is  _your home._ "

()()()

Uther looks up from his meal at hearing his son's request. "Fire him? Well, then, if he's ineffective ... We'll see to find another servant for you in the meantime."

It's the eighth one in five days. No one looks surprised. Really, for the sake of his household's sanity, the King hopes that mentally diseased Melvin or what's his face comes back to Camelot soon and sorts out this mess. Arthur has failed to properly have his shoes laced again and his behaviour as of late is absolutely not befitting a prince.

Arthur grunts out "Thank you, father" before leaving the room in favour of the training fields, where he can find a dummy or something to hit. Hard and repeatedly.

The guards of the citadel run up and down the city until they find a servant boy whose eyes shine with admiration at the mention of serving Prince Arthur himself. In fact when the boy realizes that he's got the chance, the guards almost have to chase the boy all the way to the castle to lead him to the right corridors and rooms, while trying to make sure the boy doesn't break things and make courtiers stumble in his excitement.

Just a few hours later, said boy flees the prince's chambers crying in despair. He did  _nothing_  wrong, he's sure! He'd not meant to spill the wine all-over the prince, or  _meant_  to make that vase fall over, it's just - one second it was standing securely in the middle of the table and the next it was balancing dangerously on the edge and he had no time to stop it! And that thing with the wardrobe was just an  _accident!_

()()()

CLANG!

Something hard hits the wood, causing the prince to jump, blinking sluggishly. A silver plate. The smell of food drifts over him, but as of late he's not had much appetite. With a yawn he sinks down again, cheek pressed against the various important documents scattered all-over the surface. Typical. Breakfast. Which also means; a servant. And it's Friday so Merlin isn't back yet. Damn.

"Go.  _Away_ ," the prince grumbles into the wood, not looking up. He's not in the mood to handle that bloody servant right now, or his stupid jokes about brass. He's sure the servant will start it soon, in a monotone voice: 'Have you heard this joke, sire? It's awesome, sire. It's truly enjoyable and I really want you to hear it, sire.' Yes, in one ... two ...

"Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the table." A hand comes into the corner of his vision, grabbing the bread. "Oh well, if you don't want breakfast I'm more than ready to take it. I'm famished."

Arthur shoots up like an arrow sprung from the string, shouting in surprise. " **Merlin**!" An expression of extreme relief covers his face.  _"You're back!"_  Ignoring the servant's squawk of surprise, he practically leaps over the table and wraps his arms tightly around Merlin, nearly strangling him in the process. "Thank god. Thank god! The week's been hell. That stupid servant didn't know  _anything_  and kept calling me sire and tell horrible jokes and, and it's been  _awful!_ "

The corners of Merlin's mouth quirks in an amused smile, and he leans into the hug. "I knew you'd miss me."

The prince pulls back like remembering what he's doing. "I - no. I didn't. It's only been a week. Of course. I've been fine, not like I can take care of myself. For a week. Uhm." It's like argument that he doesn't want Merlin to be back, which is the same as lying. So Arthur goes quiet and then, after a moment's realization, lowers his arms.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Merlin says with a goofy grin. "Oh! I know this story, it's awesome, want hear it? One day a merchant tried to sell a brass detail when-"

Horrified, Arthur clamps his hands tightly over his ears. "SHUT UP! I'm not listening, I'm not listening..."

Merlin's grin widens. "So the rumours are true."

"Rumours?"

"Yup, it's all-over the city. That you got a manservant while I was gone and he nearly drove you insane, so the king let you get another and you made him flee your chambers crying at least twice a day. Because of his sense of humour. And the third one stumbled dropping your best sword nearly on your foot but only because you were yelling at him. So you fired him too. Did you  _really_  work through eleven different servants in ... what, six days? You really are an  _impossible prat_. The kitchen girls were talking about it all morning when I came to fetch you breakfast, and they kept patting my back and stuff, well except the head cook who told me to get out of her kitchen as fast as possible but - well, she's always yelling at me, it's no surprise. Anyway - everyone's talking about it. Apparently you're officially the Worst Master of the Week. No wonder I was getting odd looks on my way here: they must be feeling sorry for me for having to serve such a dollophead."

Arthur winces, but just slightly, because that sense of humour was just  _weird_. And the servants had all been far too polite. And half of them also ten times clumsier than Merlin  _ever_ had been. Merlin has never spilled drink over him when he was dining with his father, or destroyed a wardrobe, or put on his armour backwards, or accidentally shot one of his knights when handing the prince his crossbow. Thankfully, the latter was just a flesh wound (but it'd been awkward to explain to Gaius why on earth sir Bors ended up with an arrow in his backside).

Merlin's grin fades at the end of the tirade, being replaced with a scowl. "And you call  _me_  the worst manservant ever!"

"Yeah but you're also  _my_  manservant and not some bootlicker. You're annoying, yes, very much so, and clumsy, and you 'forget' mucking out the stables all the time," Arthur rants, throwing his hands in the air, upset. "But you actually know how I want to be served, unlike those idiots who constantly kneel by my feet and calls me sire, sire, sire. Complete idiots! 'Let me clean your room and put all your stuff in the wrong places, sire,' - 'I've no idea where your armour is, sire,' - 'Can I kiss the ground you walk on,  _sire_?' - It was completely horrendous! Abysmal! They don't know a thing!"

Part of Merlin feels sorry for Arthur and wanted to hug him tight and call him sweet, embarrassing things. Another part of him is clearly enjoying this, because Arthur is rarely acting like this, now pacing back and forth as he rants.

"You've suffered, haven't you?" he says, amused, and starts making the prince's bed. The room is an utter mess: one chair is thrown over, there are small things littered everywhere and there's a suspicious looking dent in the prince's wardrobe. There's also mud in a corner next to two very dirty boots (with holes in them). Merlin stifles a sigh. Scrubbing the floor will be awful. But on the other hand, he's content now, he realizes, standing in Arthur's rooms listening to Arthur's voice and feeling his presence, his scent, little details like that which makes Merlin happy.

Arthur hasn't stilled yet.

"Stupid servants, having cabbage thrown at them didn't seem to help either."

Suddenly Arthur is standing right in front of him, a threatening finger close to Merlin's nose.

"Never, Merlin, never  _ever_  become like that. You must swear to me you'll never act like those bootlickers."

The servant almost goes cross-eyed trying to keep track of the prince's hand. "...I'm not planning to be like that." A glare. "Right, I mean - I swear. I  _swear_  on your royal cotton socks that I'll never be like that. Happy now?"

"Good. If you ever act like that I'll have you thrown in the dungeons for your insolence."

"Okay," the warlock says good-naturedly and grins. Finally, Arthur's getting back to his old self, and Merlin realizes how much he's missed this. He sidles toward the table, longingly looking at the pie next to the cheese. "So, do you want that breakfast or not?"

For once, the prince doesn't mind sharing.


	26. Blatantly Use Magic When He's Not Supposed To

They're surrounded. Badly so. There are some twenty bandits with crossbows and swords and then there's Arthur and Merlin. Their horses have fled and Arthur's got a limp in his right leg. Plan A of fighting their way out in one piece has failed. Now, prince tries to think of a plan B.

Arthur musters his courage and picks his best Don't-Make-Me-Angry-You-Fuckers voice. "Leave this place! I'm warning you!"

The bandits laugh mockingly.

 _Shitshitshit,_  Arthur thinks, this is really bad because as good a fighter he is, they're completely outnumbered. Against fifteen crossbow bolts, his fighting skill won't really matter. He glances at Merlin, who's got a strange look in his eye, his jaw set stern and his shoulders tense. He's about to do something. Something stupid and something he'd prefer not to have to, but there's hardly any other choice. Arthur steps closer to him, so at least he can protect the servant's front and Arthur's grip of his sword tightens: he won't go down without a fight, and he'll do anything he can to protect Merlin to his last breath.

"You heard him!" Merlin -  _the idiot_  - suddenly shouts,  _steadily_ , to the prince's shock. "Leave and we'll spare your lives! We have weapons more powerful than yours!"

More bouts of laughter; the bandits are closing, clearly enjoying the situation and they all probably have gruesome slow deaths in mind for all three. The prince's mind works frantically to come up with a plan, at least to get Merlin out of here alive but there's nothing and then Merlin has to act like a complete idiot and stand up against the thugs. He doesn't even have a knife! What chance does he stand?

"Merlin!" Arthur hisses,  _"What the hell are you doing?"_ What kind of weapon is the idiot talking about? Between them they have one sword, a dagger and a neckerchief. It's not that impressive. "Are you completely  _out of your mind?"_

"Stand back, I'm saving our backsides," is the muttered reply, and then Merlin does the most absurd thing ever.

"I'm magic!" he cries out, palms open. "Back off!"

"MERLIN," the prince growls.  _Idiot, idiot, idiot_. Posing as a sorcerer won't help things! What's he going to do, stand there hands raised and yell gibberish and hope it scares off the thugs? And what then, when it doesn't work? Is going to pick up a stick and wave it around pretending it's awesome? Merlin is an  **idiot**.

The bandits start looking uncertain now. "Eh, ye don't look like a sorcerer," one of them say, "ye ain't got no powerful look or anythin'."

"Yeah!" agrees the other bandits in chorus. "Let's kill 'em!" With battle-cries, they charge, weapons raised and Arthur takes up battle stance, sword at the ready; risking a glance at Merlin, a short look meant to convey that  _Even if you're an idiot I might need a servant in the afterlife_   _and you're not that bad, really_  – and Arthur wants to hold the idiot one last time, maybe confess something but never gets his chance.

Merlin raises his hands and shouts, eyes swirling gold, and the ground opens up like a giant jaw and swallows the bandits. The war-cries turns to screams of pain and shock and then they're gone, the ground sewing itself back together, with a great rumble and shaking. Then there's silence: complete utter silence, the warlock standing there breathing heavily, like he's run a race.

Arthur falls flat on his face. Not deliberately, of course.

"WHAT. THE. HELL. MERLIN!"

The servant glances at the fallen prince, and since the situation is so serious he refrains from telling that Arthur's got lots of mud in his hair and on his armour. The prince continues his rant huffing for air, torn between anger and shock and betrayal.

"I THOUGH YOU WERE GOING TO  _PRETEND_  TO BE A BLOODY SORCERER - NOT  _BE_  A BLOODY SORCERER  _FOR REAL_ , DAMN IT!"

Merlin lowers his hand, staring at the ground ashamed, shoulders slumped. "Yeah. I – sorry."

The prince's managed to draw himself up now, still staring in disbelief at his manservant. At his clumsy, kind, too-trusting-for-his-own-good, loyal manservant. At his manservant who's got magic and apparently is powerful enough to  _tear up the ground_ with a couple of words and the wave of a hand. "Why," Arthur gasps, still trying to wrap his head around the thought; "Why did you use  _magic_? And why didn't you _tell me earlier?"_

The warlock looks defeated, frail and tired and Arthur has a sudden urge to step up to him and wrap his arms around him for support.

"I'm sorry," Merlin says weakly. "I – I was born like this. I've only helped and protected you with my magic, you must know that. And uhm, there's something about destiny as well but it's kind of complicated."

(It's probably best to leave out that part about the dragon until later.)

Arthur's brow creases into a frown. "Born with it? I didn't think that was possible. I've only known sorcerers to learn their powers and then use it to harm, to throw out kingdom into chaos or try to kill me or my father."

"That's wrong!" Merlin says heatedly, taking insult at that remark, his chest stinging with hurt. "Not all sorcerers are evil!"

"Of course I know that, you idiot! You're the perfect example of that. Is that what you think of me, that's I'm some ignorant fool who can't tell left from right? Of course you do! Of course. Of course. Oh, you-you, ugh, I'm going to have put in the stocks  _for the rest of the week_! Do you have absolutely  _zero_  sense self-preservation!"

"You're ... all right with it?"

"No, well - yes! To be honest I am but you're just so annoying and you shouldn't play a hero like that, you look like an idiot."

Huffing, the prince turns around and starts marching back to Camelot, and Merlin staggers for a moment in shock before his senses catches up with him and he quickly hurries after the prince. "Arthur! Wait! Aren't you - I mean, what's going to happen to me?" He can't form the words _'Aren't I going to be punished? Will you really hide me from your father?',_  his tongue stumbling.

"When we're back," Arthur growls, "you're going straight to the stocks. Some sense needs to get knocked into your thick skull.  _Then_  you'll tell me  _everything_."

Merlin glances at him. Uncertainly, but not afraid - and Arthur thanks the gods that Merlin doesn't look at him with fear. "Uhm, would it be okay if I used a tiny protection charm to not have to deal with tomato stains? They're  _horrible_. It takes  _ages_  to get them out of my clothes."

"No!" Arthur says firmly, looking at him incredulously. "What kind of punishment is it if you cheat?"

"Prat," the warlock mutters, his lips quirking upwards in a grin and out of the corner of his eye he sees Arthur's exhilarated smile too, and then, in the next heartbeat, things seem to be back to normal.

Some things never change.


	27. Not Notice Arthur's Wooing Woes

Determination. Courage. Strenght.

These traits are what he needs most right now. Arthur Pendragon of Camelot is a fighter, a prince, a leader. So of course he's got full control of these qualities. It's just - sometimes this control of them …  _wavers_. Not much, mind you, not much at all! He's not weak in body nor mind; he's not a  _coward_.

He's simply cautious, that's all.

This is, after all, Uther Pendragon; a man not renowned for his love to …  _abnormalities_  or break of formalities or magic or, well, anything of the sort. And Arthur has got to breach the subject slowly and carefully unless he wants people thrown in the dungeons. This is one of the reasons he's chosen to do this carefully, and inform the court first. To prepare them for the impact. Because Merlin is an idiot and of course would simply barge in, stubbornly claiming that "I can take care of myself, you prat, don't worry about me!" and other things like that and the court wouldn't be too pleased. Although if all other ways fail, Arthur could probably take Merlin and ride out in the woods and settle in a nice cottage somewhere and become a farmer (and let Merlin do the hard work).

He steps forward, slightly bolder. "Father, I have a request."

"Yes? Go on." The King has his nose buried in some Very Important Document, sparing his son just a short glance. "Go on, son." This is the fifth time this week, so Uther doesn't expect Arthur to say anything more, simply turn on his heels and rush out of the hall all of sudden as if chased by the devil. But this time, this Arthur shall not fail. He shall not hesitate. He shall not run away in  _(fear)_  sudden haste.

The prince clears his throat. "Father, I wish to marry."

"WHAT?" Uther exclaims abruptly with papers suddenly flying everywhere; the guards present in the room turns to look at the King as if he were crazy.

"Oh _finally_!" the king continues, leaping forward. "My son! My son, you're growing up, oh my boy, my little boy is going to finally take the hand of some beautiful, dimwitted princess, get a queen and have lots of children of their own for me to bounce on my knee, while I retell embarrasing stories from your childhood! Oh, how I have _waited_! I'm so proud of you, my boy!  _So proud_!" With a sniff, Uther dries away some stray tears (of course they're just there completely by mistake; he got a fly or something in his eye, that's all) with a handkerchief. "You're making your papa so proud!"

Arthur awkwardly tries to dislodge the King from his shoulders, who now is bawling with happiness into the prince's shirt.

"Err. It's not quite ... not quite like that, father."

Immediately, Uther stiffens and leans back, no traces of immense happiness or tears of true joy. "It ... it isn't?" he asks, suddenly suspicious. His voice grows in strenght and annoyance: "Who is the princess you wish to marry, son? Who is the lucky lady? There _must_  be one!" The tone changed into an angry, disappointed growl: "You better not have tried to fool your father, boy!"

The prince squirms slightly, trying to come up with some good way, without revealing too much, to tell his father that he won't marry a princess. Or a noble. Or even a woman. "Don't worry father! I do wish to marry. For  _real._  The thing is - well, they're not exactly a princess..."

"...No?"

"...To start with, they're not even of noble blood..."

Uther looks completely devastated. "Wh-what? But, but all my plans! I was going to invite all kings and lords I know and have a great tea-party and everything, seeing you'd marry one of their daughters! My dinner seating plans are now _ruined!"_

"I'm sorry, father. But I'm adamant and will not change my mind - I will marry no other, for they are my soul, my heart, my everything."

The King looks deeply pained. "At least, tell me she's dimwitted but attractive and that she'll make a good Queen without confusing you too much."

Arthur nods dutifully. "Of course! My Queen shall be the best of Queens." As an afterthought, he adds; "Although sometimes, he's not as much of an idiot as he looks like."

Which is how King Uther gets to know his son wants to marry some peasant boy with some name Uther never will be able to properly remember. Gobsmacked, the King sinks into his throne chair and his forehead hits the table, hard.

Despite this reaction, it's quite calm to the many reactions Arthur has feared he'd recieve, so he stays calm and happy, with a giddy smile on his face, like an excited child in a candy store.

"Well, father?" he asks eagerly, bouncing on his heels. "Do I have your permission?"

Uther doesn't reply, merely keeps banging his head in the table. The stupid crown keeps getting in the way giving him this horrible, nasty headache.

Without hearing a clear 'no', Arthur grins (taking the silence as a 'yes') and makes a victory sign. "Yay!"

Now he can finally move onto the next step of the plan, which is the actual asking and getting married-part.

()()()

Merlin just doesn't seem to get it, sometimes. Well many times. The boy isn't stupid, well, not as stupid as most peasants but he's still oblivious and slow and irritating (about certain matters) and it's Arthur duty to put him straight (about these certain matters).

Arthur is determined, and he knows the art of wooing well – he realizes that measures needs to be taken. Well, at least he's heard a lot from various people in his surroundings and they can't all be wrong. Gifts, sweet words and kind actions are always good to make your message come across. He's the prince so he can make sure to get his hands of almost anything extravagant. And he can plan and make a grand festival or tournament or something else like that, rousing the whole city. Arthur thinks hard. There must be some big event he can use to his advantage, to show off his manly prowess. That's the key. He needs to show Merlin he's the best, strongest man around to give Merlin an unyielding urge to throw himself in Arthur's manly arms, giving no room for doubt.

There's been talk of a white deer in the woods. And Arthur is going to catch it. Not only would the people of Camelot congratulate him on his prowess, but Merlin must have to be so proud, for the prince to have tracked, found and shot such a rare creature. Right? Of course. Besides, hunting is traditional.

"We're going hunting?  _Again_?" Merlin groans in annoyance. "You're such an insufferable prat."

Arthur is certain that means  _'You're such a handsome prince, gift me well and I shall bestow you with a kiss from my beautiful lips.' -_ and he smiles at the servant brilliantly. "Yep!"

Horses are saddled and a few guards gathered, to help him locate the deer (hello? Prince of Camelot here. It's not like he'll go out hunting  _alone_ when he can have dozens of people helping him out.) They meet up in the courtyard. Merlin, naturally, is complaining again. About his cold feet (if he just asks, Arthur will gladly warm them for him) and the uncomfortable weather (were he able, Arthur would make it law for the sun to shine and the forests always be full of flowers, so that Merlin will be pleased) and that Arthur is a prat (which Arthur is certain means  _'Let me kiss you breathless, Your_   _Pratliness'_ ).

When everone else have mounted their horses and secured their gear, ready to leave, the servant has yet to drag himself up the saddle. He puts his foot in the stirrup, but the horse steps slightly to the side and Merlin ends up falling in a heap. Onlookers look amused and a couple of them laughs at the servant's clumsiness, except the prince who rushes forward with a concerned look on his face.

"Let me," Arthur says and before Merlin can protests he lays his hands on Merlin's waist and helps him into the saddle. It's not that bad, Merlin quietly admits, but he grumbles under his breath anyway,; he's not some weak clumsy damsel who can't take care of himself! Plus, there's no bloody reason for Arthur to keep smiling like a simpleton.

()()()

The forest is full of chippering birds. It takes many, many hours before there's a sign of anything. Merlin has (for the eighth time) asked if they could turn back now,  _please, my bum is getting numb,_  when suddenly there's movement between the trees. The whole party freezes up and Arthur raises his crossbow, takes careful aim at a patch of white ... and lets the bolt fly.

A few minutes later, Arthur comes to regret that action deeply.

"I can't believe you shot that rabbit - it was completely defenceless and innocent! You never gave it a chance! You stupid, stupid selfish dollophead!"

Arthur feels his chest squeeze in pain at Merlin distress. So instead of ordering the creature to be made into some hot, nice stew, he makes sure the guards take it to some peaceful green glade to give it a proper burial. Merlin cries a little and puts a flower on the mound, insisting that they name the bunny so it can be remembered through all of time (one of the knights comes up with the brilliant suggestion 'Ben the Bunny that was slayed by Prince Arthur' and Merlin only cries harder) and Arthur feels bad the whole journey home. He tries to make up to it, talking nicely and compliementing Merlin's ears, but the servant refuses to speak with him for the rest of the day, and when they finally arrive at Camelot empty-handed, Merlin slides off his horse with strange anger-triggered grace, marching off before Arthur has the chance to say anything.

So, obviously hunting is out of the question. Arthur had thought this was a safe card: the idiot has always liked small furry things, but apparently he doesn't like being presented their small furry bodies as gifts.

But, no worries; the brave prince will not be deterred! Arthur already has another plan in mind. And this time it's the  _ultimate plan_  and it shall definitely not fail.

()()()

_A few days later:_

"For heaven's sake, someone wring the neck of that bloody cat!" King Uther growls when for the third morning in the row he can't eat his breakfast in peace, even if the windows are closed and sealed tightly and he's ordered the servants to be as loud and busty as physically possible. "I'll soon go mad with this racket going on!"

The nearest servant rushes forward to refill his wine cup, ducking to avoid being hit in the head.

No one dares to tell His Highness it's not a cat in its death throes but rather the king's own son standing below one of the caste towers singing his woos (and, as of late, woes) at the top of his lungs pleading for attention but there's an idiot who seem to be deaf as well as dumb, and the prince as obviously inherited his father's extreme stubbornness (and confidence in these matters) so he refuses to stop.

No one except Gaius that is, who, in his special  _it's best to break matters slowly sire but I'm afraid it's MAGIC! but take it cool, man_ -voice, explains to Uther that prince Arthur has suffered a blow in the head (HE'S MADLY BADLY DEEPLY HEAD OVER HEELS WITH AN IDIOT) and might've forgotten proper manners for a moment (HE'D DO ANYTHING TO SHAG WITH SAID IDIOT) and the shrieking in pain, err, he means to say  _singing_  is there because of this sudden urge to (PUSH HIS MANSERVANT AGAINST NEAREST FLAT SURFACE AND GO AT IT LIKE BUNNIES IN HEAT) boast of his manly prowess and all that, but, don't worry sire, I'm sure it'll pass (I'LL HAVE A SERIOUS WORD WITH MY WARD SHORTLY) soon and we can have some peace and quiet (AND MAYBE SOME GRANDCHILDREN TO LOOK FORWARD TO, THAT'D BE NICE).

The king reacts kingly and regally with a very kingly and regal snort.

"A blow in the head -  _again?_ " Uther mutters, taking another deep gulp of red wine. "Don't you have some miracle medicine to cure him?" he asks because he's seriously concerned for his son even if said son probably has made Camelot's court minstrels hastily flee the kingdom, their musical bones rattling in true fear.

Gaius response is adamant and solemn: "I am working on it, sire."

"Get it  _fixed."_

()()()

At the same time, Merlin is lying curled up on his bed, covers and pillows pulled tightly over his head. "Argh. Has is stopped yet? Has it stopped? Oh please someone make it  _stop_ ," he mutters, unable to hear his own voice because of all the fabric, but somehow the strong but muffled wailing sounds still manage to reach his ears.

Honestly, he's never heard a sound like this before, and it's both frightening and annoying, and he hopes Arthur's all right; hopefully the prince hasn't acted like an idiot and gone out to challenge or fight whoever is making that sound, because then Merlin would have to deal with a deaf (or partially deaf) prince and  _that_  would be  _hell_. Unless Merlin does deaf first which would by now be quite nice. Not  _nice_  nice, but quite. At least he'd not have to deal with this horrible,  _horrible_  noise.

()()()

"Sire, if I may have a word with you?"

The prince freezes in his pose, hands up and mouth open on a long, drawn-out, off-key high E, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the peasants aren't bowing/clapping hands enthusiastically (because most peasants have cleared the area, seeking refuge in the kingdom's outlying villagers).

This wooing thing is tricky business and his throat is all raw, but Arthur is certain this will pay off well in the near future, so it doesn't matter. 'Tis but a show of a true man's strength and honour! Also, of politeness as he kindly pauses to let the physician speak: surely his beloved one will be impressed by his perfect blend of hard and soft.

Yes, Merlin shall be awed; indeed, so much he should any minute now glance out of his tiny window by the top of the tower smiling with glee at seeing who the singer is, the one who - with such wonderful words praising Merlin's beauty - serenades below, and admire his prince: his Perfect Golden Hair and Loveable Voice and Shining Armour. And the boy will happily fling himself in Arthur's very manly, strong arms and they shall ride into the sunset – forever together, joined, in a great Kingdom or a tiny woodland cottage if so Merlin prefers with a small patch of land, wherein Arthur shall be King and beside his throne shall his Queen sit, and they shall be by destiny forever entwined, preferably in intimate ways of the flesh with warmth spreading through their coupled bodies, and … Yes – soon. Very,  _very soon._

 _Ahem, ahem,_  sounds at his right and Arthur startles, realizing that Gaius is still standing there looking at him pointedly.

"Yes, Gauis?"

"I would advice another tactic."

"Oh? But this is working fine. It is. Fine."

Gaius gives the man a pointed look. "He's very fond of flowers."

"Is he?" The physician nods. A grin spreads over Arthur's face in glee. "That's brilliant!"

()()()

The following morning, Camelot's population is fairly sane again, thanks to the final halt of the Horrible Unspeakable Noise, and there are only a few lingering headaches that Gaius can remedy with some odd purple substance.

"Morning," Merlin says, hesitantly, as he enters the prince's chambers with a tray with breakfast, but halting on the doorstep. "What are all those doing here?" he asks next, wide-eyed.

"Can't you see?" Arthur cries in response, throwing out his arms, exasperated.

"Of course I do, I'm not  _stupid_! I just wondered, you've never liked flowers. You hate flowers. And now your chambers are filled with them. They're very pretty though ..." Beffudled with this new mystery, Merlin steps deeper into the room and inhales the scents. However, he regrets inhaling so deeply when he sneezes.

Arthur immediately by his side, a hand on his back. "They-they are?" Suddenly, the prince doesn't sound angry, irritated or like a prat. No, there's a hint of bashfulness, nervousness. "You like them?"

"Yeah, sure." He sneezes again, feeling his eyes water and starting to itch.

Arthur still looks doubtful. "Truly? Merlin, do you appreciate them or are you just being polite?"

"They're nice. They are! It's just, I _-a_ - _aa-achoo_! The blue ones there. I'm ... I'm allergic to them."

Of course Arthur has filled his chambers to the width with blue flowers, because the colours matches his beloved's eyes perfectly. Now, seeing the servants reaction, he blanches, horrified, and rushes forward to draw Merlin into his arms, into safety.

"I'll you out of here, my fair one!" the prince cries like he's going defeat a dragon, sword in hand - "And I'll see to that these chambers are cleaned from this horrendous occurence."

Merlin looks at him as if the prince suddenly has grown a second head.

And, Arthur quietly adds to himself, he'll make sure that someone to hurry and remove the large blue bouquet he's ordered to be left in Merlin's room.

()()()

"Why didn't you tell me he's allergic to those stupid blue ones?" thunders the prince, upset and outraged. "Now my beloved is sick! It didn't work, it didn't bloody  _work_!"

"If I may suggest, sire, you might find the results more pleasing if you are more ...  _direct_  in your approach (Merlin isn't  _that_  bright). Be gentle, though, because if you hurt my ward I'll poison your food and make you bald and give you spots that shall never go away," Gaius says in a completely natural tone.

The prince nods in earnestly, and grins widely. "Thank you, Gaius! That's the most brilliant idea ever!"

And he turns on his heel, running over the threshold like a man possessed (which he kind of is). Gaius turns back to the potion he's boiling, sighing. "Heavens, if this doesn't end soon I'll have to ask Uther for a vacation," the old man mutters to himself. "A long vacation, by the sea or some foreign village where I could put my mind off things."

()()()

 _"O, woe is me, woe is me,"_  crieth a young handsome prince as he stands on his balcony, his heart shattering into tiny fragments which no one now possibly could glue together, even if the glue were strong and magical.  _"What have I, the strongest, handsomest and bravest of prince, done to deserve this punishment, this horror? Be forced to endure this everlasting cruel pain ... My heart is bleeding out ... A dangerous road I have trekked for you, O, my fair one - spare me my suffering, end it, I beg of you, for you are my only and my all, what completes me; the other side of my coin -_ Who's written this? This is like, awesome and spot on and everything! _\- Let me plant my seed in your fields of love, to bloom, to-"_

Behind him, there's a snort, and a lady appears in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the prince who is kneeling in front of a broom. "Honestly. You need to learn to keep your voice down. (Do you want my high heel in your groin?)

Arthur looks up at her and glowers, and kicks the book (which he's absolutely _not_  been reading out loud from) underneath the bed. "You saw and heard  _nothing_!" he hisses, because this is a secret operation so that he can surprise and awe his beloved. "Nothing!"

The lady looks at him quite bored. "Sure, whatever, Arthur. Just get on with it before we all go crazy."

()()()

He knocks heavily on the door. After a couple of moments, it opens with a creak, candlelight spilling onto the corridor floor: Arthur takes his pose and a deep breath, glancing just briefly at the note in his hand. "O, woe is me-"

"Sire," a very tired Gaius says. "It's too early for this."

"Oh. Hello Gaius, may I see Merlin?" Arthur asks, chipper and bright despite the fact that the sun hasn't risen yet. His hair is unruly thanks to being up all night and practicing.

The physician gives him a Look, which could mean  _I'm THIS close to giving you a terrible fate_  (insert murderous glare). It's very much like the glaring warning the prince recieved a few days prior, and maybe Gaius thinks Arthur is going to take Merlin's virtue and then leave the boy alone and heartbroken, and the old man is only doing his duty as a fatherly mentor - which of course is an outrageous suggestion; Arthur would  **never**  hurt Merlin like that. Or, more possibly, it's just a look that says  _Disturb my sleep again and I shall cut off your ..._ Well,  _those,_  and Arthur is quite fond of them where they are right now.

"Just for a moment?" Arthur makes his best hurt-puppy-look, hands clasped together. "...Pretty pretty please?"

The door is shut dangerously close to the prince's royal nose.

()()()

No one in the castle approves of the doves. They keep crapping everywhere and his father no longer deems it safe to leave the hall. Plus, just five minutes before Arthur's carefully planned grand performance, one of the bloody birds flies off with the ring. Stupid birds. There's a reason why they're not kept around! So, the prince spends a whole afternoon running up and down the city with most of the knights on his heels, who have joined him in his very dangerous quest of finding the astray beasts (who all flee at the sight of the armoured men).

On the other hand, when Merlin sees them he cooes and pats their heat because for some reason the birds seem to like him too; one even lands on his outstreched hand when he's fetching water from the well. But even when one bird circles him with a golden ring with the Pendragon insignia on it in its talons, the boy doesn't get it. He just accepts the jewelry and murmurs, "Oh, it's Arthur's, he must've dropped it ... Thank you, birdie, for finding it."

Hurriedly he then finds Arthur, gives him the ring explaining that he found it in the courtyard - amazingly enough a dove actually flew down to give it to him like it _knew_ it was Arthur's and had gone missing! "Here you go, sire," Merlin says and places the ring in Arthur's hand and then starts to walk away to fetch that water, humming quietly to himself, oblivious and happy.

Arthur facepalms and falls into the mud, getting his armour all dirty.

Even the doves seem to shake their heads in pity.

()()()

A direct approach. It's what Gaius said wasn't it? So, Arthur has finally decided to make a direct approach. But he doesn't want to be insensitive, or _too_  forward, in the books the prince/lord/knight is always gentlemanly about these things, and full of praise and serenades.

Which is difficult.

"Have you ever thought about…you know. Bonds? To certain people. Not bonds ... bonds. But. Traditional stuff."

Arthur isn't babbling. Of course. He's the prince and prince's doesn't babble. If he's got a churning feeling in the bottom of his stomach, well, that's got nothing to do with it. He's  _not_ nervous. Of course.

"Huh?" Merlin looks up from where he's folding the prince's newly washed underwear. "Uhm, yeah, I guess …" he says not really understanding what Arthur's getting on. The prince is often rather straight to the point, and doesn't walk around the subject.

Arthur's back straightens a little, and he puts down his fork. He might need to be more frank then, seeing all of his further plans have failed one way or another. Maybe Merlin is just playing hard to get? Or he  _is_  hard to get. Either way, Arthur is set on having him. "Well I've thought … sometimes, that it'll be lonely. I mean, when I'm King," he says, some kind of serious tone slipping into the corners of his voice, "I'm going to need - people around me, support."

"But you do have it. You're not lonely," Merlin assures him and gives him a brilliant smile. "The people love you already, and you've got their support. You'll make a great King."

"Yeah, I suppose, but that's not  _the_   _point_ ," Arthur stresses and then the stern formal tone slips, replaced by a hint of nervousness and Merlin feels his eyebrows rising involuntarily (must be Gaius' influence!) because Arthur's  _never_  nervous."That is not what I truly desire. I want something – something more … special. Like. I don't know, more than a rider needs a horse."

An inquiring, disapproving look, the hint of a frown is sent his way - but still Merlin manages to look  _disbelieving_. It's amazing sometimes how expressive Merlin's face can be, the slight wrinkles around his mouth, his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks and other small adorable details like that which Arthur keeps noticing. It's quite distracting.

"Have you been down with Gwaine at the Rising Sun again?"

"No! Of course not. I'm serious, Merlin. When I'm King I'm going to need a – a companion, steady by my side, and I do now as well. Heirs wouldn't be that bad either, but there are cousins too so it's not a problem really. You know what I mean don't you?"

"…H-heirs?"

"A Queen, Merlin," Arthur clarifies. "I need a Queen." His eyes flicker over at Merlin (in a way he hopes will convey the message of  _Let's shag until dawn breaks!_ ).

Merlin looks devastated. It's the kind of utterly-heartbroken-and-devastated-trying-to-hide-it, a sort Arthur has seen on Merlin once or twice and the sight hurts so badly, his heart feels like crushing in his chest, a weight pressing on his lungs painfully; and he wants to pull the warlock into a safe warm embrace and tell him it'll be all right, patting his soft-looking hair and adorable ears.

The warlock looks back at him insecurely, breath hitching. "Oh," he whispers, and his eyes glaze with tears, and suddenly, before Arthur has time to stop him, the servant turns on his heels and flees. He's out of the room within a second, the chamber doors slamming shut behind him right as the prince hears a sob.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouts after him running from the table to the door, but the servant is long gone. " _Merlin_!"

No response.

Damn.  _Damn damn damn damn._  He's fucked up. Majorly.

He's such a  _fool_! He shouldn't have put it that way! What did Merlin think? That Arthur was pushing him away? Oh fuck, oh fuck. He needs to fix this  _quick_. What if Merlin's had enough now and decides to leave?

()()()

 _Owowow_.

Morgana's got a bloody strong fist.

"You better make this right," she growls (calling him some obscene things that Uther would be aghast at hearing from his ward) - Arthur doesn't argue.

He walks straight to Gaius' chambers.

()()()

Merlin is  _such an idiot_. Arthur thinks the message should've gotten across by now but no, no, Merlin is stubborn and obvious and has to run off before Arthur can get to the point or go down on one knee front of him properly and things like that.

His chest stings at the thought, something like guilt rising up his throat making him sick. Merlin had been really upset – the warlock tried to hide it, but Arthur saw the tears in his eyes. And Arthur wants to hit himself for hurting his warlock in such a manner, or any manner: damn it, he's supposed to be honourable and a good friend and Merlin's  _lover_! He really deserves Morgana's anger.

But Merlin is so stubborn. He won't  _listen_.

And he's got magic too, damn it, so no matter how much Arthur pushes at/kicks at/tries to hack it down with his sword, the stupid door won't budge an inch.

"Merlin," he says again, breathing into the wood,  _pleadin_ g - "Merlin, please listen to me."

Silence wraps thick around him and he hears muffled sounds of shifting from inside, but no answer. But his heart feels heavy, things have turned out  _all_   _wrong_  and it's  _his_  fault, and he's not sure he can ever make this right. What if Merlin refuses to face him again? What if -?

"Merlin," he pleads, crumbling to his knees, clawing at the door; "Just hear me out. Please. Please? Merlin?"

More shuffling, hesitant footsteps nearing the door.

"I … What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have put it that way, shouldn't have hurt you like that. I didn't mean to hurt you! You're an amazing, wonderful person and I'm not sure if I deserve someone as kind, beautiful and in all ways incredible as you – what I said, I didn't mean it like that. Not like you think. I," Arthur's breath hitches with emotion he's not used to have, crawling beneath his skin dangerously close to his heart; before Merlin came wandering into his life with that carefree grin and big ears, Arthur never felt anything like this. It was breathtaking and frightening and so wonderful at the same time. "I … Merlin, I never want you to leave my side."

And then, "I'm sorry."

And finally, "Please, stay with me. At my side. When I'm King … all I need by my side is _you_."

And finally,  _finally_  Merlin  _gets it_. The door is wrenched open, and before Arthur can react his arms are full of sobbing, laughing warlock and after a moment of hitching breaths, somewhere between tears and laughter, Merlin places a kiss right on the prince's mouth; the kiss is eagerly returned and lasts for a second and a lifetime, and Arthur doesn't mind at all when they somehow stumble into the warlock's bedroom, falling onto the bed in a heap of entwined limbs.

"You dollophead," Merlin murmurs against Arthur's cheek, relief making his face brighter. "You stupid,  _stupid_  dollophead. I thought you ... that someone else was ... not me! Oh, you prat! You just could've  _asked_."

He smiles. If Merlin wants a question, then a question he'll have. "Merlin," Arthur asks breathlessly, "will you marry me?"

()()()

"You're certain, Gwen?" Morgana asks, setting down her comb.

"Positive," her handmaiden replies.

" _Finally._  Uther should be happy about this." Gwen gives her an inquiring look. The lady continues; "He's tried to get Arthur together with some foreign princess for _years._  Now he will finally realize why all attempts have failed so utterly."

"Because the prince is a prat?" Gwen asks playfully.

Morgana smirks knowingly, casting a short thought back at her most recent Dreams - she's known about this for months now, and waited not so patiently. The boys  _really_  are slow. "Because he's a moron in love with an idiot."

()()()

And so it comes to be, that the wedding of Prince Arthur of Camelot and His Manservant/Warlock takes place a gorgeously sunny summer day and they live happily ever after, soon as King and Queen of Camelot, completely ignoring the hair-pulling, teeth-gnashing former King Uther who watches resignedly from the sidelines as Albion is transformed into a great blooming magical Kingdom, a land full of rainbows, flowers and unicorns and happy baby dragons playing fetch with the castle guards. (Or something like that.)


	28. Place Bunches of Mistletoe Anywhere Around The Castle (Or Stand Under Them)

The city is alight with candles and thick, white snow. There's not a single window filled with the warm light from a hearth or dozens of candles; the taverns are full of singing, drinking people, and the streets covered in a matt of happy chattering people, exchanging gifts and friendly, loving words.

The merry mood hasn't escaped the castle. As seeing how stiff the whole court seems to be about any kind of Yuletide business (he's not even heard the word 'Yule' be mentioned  _a single time_!) Merlin has taken it upon himself to lighten the mood and prepare a wonderful, unforgettable Yuletide Feast. With his cheerful smile and friendly nature it's easy to convince some other servants and even some knights to help him out. Gwen is equally excited (okay, maybe not equally, but nearly as much) and agrees that the castle has been too gloomy as of late.

With her and many other willing people's help, in a fortnight Merlin manages to transform Camelot's castle from a place made out of quiet, relatively empty corridors to a light-filled, heavily decorated centre of merrymaking: there's laughter, music, smell of good food and smiles everywhere you turn, and Merlin has made sure to put up garlands in every corridor.

Garlands which he's made mostly himself, since, despite how much they want to help, Gwaine and the rest of the knights have rather clumsy hands. Lancelot tries bravely, but messes up and makes something very disorderly every time. Gwaine brings ale whenever they meet to make preparations and end up cracking bad jokes, sing tavern songs (which makes Merlin's ears red in embarrassment) and fall asleep beneath one of the tables (typically). Percival almost rips every decoration apart (by mistake) due to his big, muscled arms, but he's very tall and can reach easily to places others can't, so Merlin sets him and sir Leon (who's slightly more trustable than the rest) to put up things in the taller ceilings.

Of course, Arthur doesn't first agree with the whole plan. It's stupid and childish, he says, it's not a job of Camelot's court to house such a silly feast. Even if he in his heart longs for it and would do  _anything_  to see Merlin's wide happy smile and twinkling eyes directed at him ...

But it's childish. And stupid. And silly. And not something for the Prince of Camelot to indulge in.

His father won't agree, Arthur argues. But Uther passes by timely to speak with Gaius, to see the physician's chambers flooded with laughing talking knights and servants occupied with making colourful ribbons, and once a nervous Merlin explains to the king what's going on (and that they're  _not_  some kind of underground conspiracy - the king is often worried about stuff like that), Uther  _smiles_  (which is a rather creepy look on him, in Merlin's opinion) and looks quite delighted - and when the king okays it, Arthur throws himself into the preparations wholeheartedly.

As said, he'll do anything to make Merlin happy. Even if he has to make silly garlands and bunch together greens and reds and hang them all-over the castle. His heart leaps every time Merlin flashes a grateful look or smile at him or hugs him, especially that time when Merlin pressed a quick kiss to his cheek when the prince saved a newly decorated Yule-tree from being crushed by Percival.

The kitchens are also very busy: making all kinds of delicious food, cakes and sweets. Merlin soon has his hands full, wondering why he decided to take on all this, because it's a _lot_  of work to do and he's soon out of time. He wants to make it all perfect, but he still hasn't managed to get gifts for his friends. He's not sure what to give Arthur - the prat has so much and anything Merlin could afford him pales in comparison; Merlin hasn't got money to buy him anything particularly nice or beautiful or rich.  _What would Arthur like anyway?_  he wonders. Maybe he should bake him something, or get him a new sword or another weapon, or a horse ... Although Arthur has a lot of weapons and horses already.

Trying to take his mind off that worrying, kind of stressful matter for a moment, Merlin decides to put together a bunch of mistletoes and hang them at various places around the castle. He's just finished placing one in the doorway to the armoury, when sir Bors passes by with Arthur in tow; the men's conversation halts at seeing Merlin, greeting him enthusiastically. Bors pauses right in front of the servant.

Right under the mistletoe.

"Merlin," Arthur says, "What's that?" Pointing at the green bunch.

"Oh, it's mistletoe. For, you know, that tradition; when two people meet under it ... You know?"

The prince looks at him blankly.

"So, you  _don't_  know?" Merlin guesses, quirking an eyebrow.

"Allow me to demonstrate," sir Bors says and before Merlin can protest, the knight has leaned down and kissed him. Full and hard on the lips.

Which is not a good idea when it's front of the Crown Prince of Camelot, but sir Bors rather new and isn't that experienced about the relationship Arthur has to his manservant and thus isn't aware of the Unspoken Rule that most other knights know about - or that most of Camelot knows about right now.

Which is why the knight looks confused like a kicked puppy when a red-eyed Arthur wrenches him and Merlin apart and kicks Bors in a - let's say a  _painful_ place.

Dazed, Merlin catches sight of the prince's furious face and the knight's pained grimace. "Arthur!" Merlin cries, grabbing Arthur's arm and pulling him away before he can seriously injure the knight. "Calm down!"

"But he - he - you -  _he kissed you!"_

"It didn't mean anything," Merlin says, his ears red, though he's kind of upset too because he never gave that knight permission to - to do that! But if he shows how upset he is, he'll make Arthur even angrier, and then all that'll be left of the knight is a pile of broken bones. And though he's not happy about Bors' actions, Merlin doesn't want the man half-dead and Arthur screaming bloody murder. "It's just when you meet someone under the mistletoe you've got to kiss them. It's a rule. But I-I'm fine, you don't have to mash him into meatpie! Stop it!"

Eventually, the prince releases the knight, who quickly flees the area.

Arthur glares at the bunch of green. And reaches for his sword. And raises the weapon aiming at the stupid kissing bunch, causing a stem to fall off.

"No! Wait! Don't do that - I've spent  _hours_  putting all of them together!"

"All -  _all of them_?" the prince chokes, eyes widening, his face turning slightly white. "There are  **more**?"

Merlin nods, a bit uncertainly. "Yeah, well, just a couple of them. Err, one by the great hall, one in the east wing corridor, and in the northern tower: I put one by the stables too. And ..."

" _And...?"_

"And one by the entrance to your chambers."

"That's all of them?"

Merlin nods, exhaling deeply; hopefully Arthur will have calmed down now. "Yeah." He doesn't mention the other eight he's nearly finished with and haven't had time to put up yet.

At which, the prince proceeds to run across the whole castle and tear down each one of those damned green bundles. Merlin runs after him yelling, calling him a prat and dollophead and people turn their heads as they pass them by, eyebrows rising.

"Wait! Arthur! Stop!"

Huffing for breath, Merlin manages to catch up with the prince by the entrance to the great hall: running into him actually, since Arthur stops abruptly. "How the hell did you get it up there?" Arthur demands to know pointing at the mistletoe, hanging some four feet above their heads.

"Percival helped me out."

If it was physically possible, Arthur's head would've popped like an overblown balloon. "Excuse me while I go and turn a certain knight into shreds," he growls, hefting his sword.

"Arthur!" Merlin cries out, annoyed at the prince's pratheadness, grabbing his arm before the prince can walk off. "You can't do that. Listen, calm down. If you're going to be mad at anyone about this, it's me - it was  _my_  idea to put them up. I made them. I'm all to blame."

The prince glances at the servant. And try as he might, it's very difficult to become mad at Merlin or stay mad at him for very long. Arthur narrows his eyes, brow wrinkling into a frown, and he really  _tries._  To calm down. Breathe. Blame Merlin for his stupid idea about putting up stupid mistletoes all-over the castle and get kissed by stupid knights. Arthur  _tries really hard._  But Merlin looks so pitiful and pleading and is still holding onto his arm, and Arthur just  _can't_  be mad at him. It's easier to blame Bors or Percival or the rest of the castle's staff and by angry with them.

"Damn it," he grumbles, averting his eyes. If he lets them linger on Merlin any longer, he might just forget about all else and start kissing him and that would definitely lead to other things, things which they shouldn't in the middle of an open corridor. At least an open corridor filled with people.

(Not that Arthur really minds that much if they do it on the floor or against the wall in a corridor or in the stables or the hall or his chambers, or Merlin's chamber, or in a private tower somewhere in the castle, or in the soft grass of a green meadow half a mile outside Camelot with the warlock writhing beneath him and moaning his name, or…)

Well. Err. Now people are starting to look at him oddly and he's supposed to be  _angry_ at those infuriating mistletoe bunches, not think of the various places and ways he'd rather have Merlin, say, in his naked vicinity and _right now_. He tries to stop thinking about that, and about methods of making Merlin think of the same things and stop himself from latching onto the warlock and kiss him senseless … which is difficult. Very, very difficult.

Okay – irritation. He should be able to do that. Yeah. If Merlin could stop giving him that kicked-lost-puppy look, that is.

But Arthur doesn't run off, and he slowly eases the death grip of his sword, letting it slide back in its sheathe.

"See?" Merlin says with a loop-sided grin. "Not so hard was it."

Arthur sighs, forcing himself to stand still and not think about the stupid mistletoe ... He gazes into Merlin's beautiful eyes, to distract himself, unconsciously raising a hand to rest on Merlin's hip. "Yeah..."

"Arthur, Merlin!" a happy voice cuts through their moment. Suddenly every eye in the hall turns toward the entrance.

"What, Gwaine?" Arthur asks.

"What're you waiting for? Go for it, princess!"

The prince glares at him. "What are you on about?"

The knight grins and points at the mistletoe, which conveniently is hanging right above the prince and the servant's heads. When noticing it, Merlin blushes scarlet. "Arthur," he mumbles, fidgeting with his neckerchief. "Sh-should we... in front of all these people...?"

Arthur continues to glare at the knight sternly for a moment. Then, making a decision, he holds Merlin still with one hand and grabs the large door handle with the other, pulling it closed shut. Firmly. And then the other door. A chorus of disappointed "Oohs" ripples through the crowd (well, mostly coming from Gwaine) as they can barely catch a glimpse of the prince and his servant fiercely kissing and embracing with hands suddenly wandering everywhere and their eyes closed in bliss - before the wood covers them from view completely.

"Damn it," Morgana mutters, ignoring Gwen's incredulous look at hearing her mistress' language. "I thought they'd  _finally_  dare do it in the open. Merlin's right, Arthur truly  _is_  an arrogant prat."

()()()

The kissing does eventually lead to … other things. Merlin is rather thankful, though, he manages to wobble back to Arthur's chambers, shaking and moaning and clinging to his prince just almost too weak to stand, before that happens, Arthur's hands and tongue really doing magic.

"Stupid mistletoe," Arthur mutters through gritted teeth as he struggles with the stubborn lacings of Merlin's trousers, "shouldn't be allowed."

"I-I don't really mind them," Merlin replies breathlessly, wriggling to get free of the restricting garment, "they're nice. Pretty. Nice." The words are slightly jumbled and feeble and he really wants Arthur to move back his hands were they were a second before, skin tingling, managing to make a noise of displeasure. Which is kind of ignored.

" _I'_ m the  _only one_  allowed to touch or kiss you or anything else with you. I'm making a law," Arthur continues firmly, "against stupid mistletoes hanging where random people can touch _my property_."

"W-well, umm," the warlock moans, his breath hitching, and leans into the touches, begging with his eyes to the prince to  _take your clothes off damn it! don't leave me suffering here alone!,_ because Arthur hasn't been this prattish and excruciating for  _weeks_ , it's totally unfair, and why does Arthur have to mention mistletoes when Merlin would prefer his tongue doing something else? He wants to call him a dollophead, but the words leave him, and it takes a moment to remember what he'd meant to say in the first place  _-_  "Okay then. Sounds fair."


	29. Walk Through Magical Wardrobes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note: This chapter is a crossover with the Chronicles of Narnia._

This, Merlin concludes, is the most vexing duty he's had this week. Or this month. Or  _ever_. Either Arthur is running out of things for his manservant to do, or the prat just wants to annoy him. Merlin can't for his life find anything wrong with the prince's current wardrobe. It's the perfect size for all of the prince's clothes and shoes, there's even room for more. It's not too heavy, so with some help (say magic) Merlin can move the piece of furniture around at the prince's odd whims. What need does he have of a new one?

Arthur had, of course, just waved a hand at the servant's complaints and ordered that he'd get a move on.

So, here he is, in one of the castle's many underground stores, pulling a sheet off an old, large, heavy wardrobe. It's oak, Merlin thinks, knocking at the wood, but he's not fully certain. He's never been sure of those things anyway. The wood is dark and covered with carvings, of trees and animals and strange possibly magical creatures (though they're probably not – the king would have a royal fit if his son's wardrobe, or any wardrobe in his kingdom, was adorned by images of magical creatures). Actually they're kind of pretty and fascinating. But not so pretty that it can take his mind off his worries, since this is his one main worry. How the hell is he going to get this thing cleaned and taken up three levels of stairs and filled with the prince's clothes, all in a timely manner?

"Stupid prat," Merlin mutters, wringing the wet cloth. Just cleaning it is going to take forever.

With a sigh he sets to work. Several generations of dusts seems to have gathered in layers on the thing, in every crook and detail, causing him to sneeze as he attempts to blow it away. Momentarily he considers using magic, but Arthur or someone else might barge in any moment and Merlin prefers his head where it is right now.

He's barely worked for five minutes before the prince comes down, his boots clicking against the stone floor. "Getting started, I see." Arthur nods in approval. "Good. At least you're not lazing about anymore."

"Lazing about?" Merlin exclaims. "I haven't 'lazed about' once since I arrived in Camelot and started working for you, ungrateful prat!"

"We still need to work on your manners," Arthur grunts with a frown. "You're lucky no one heard you say that."

The warlock wrinkles his nose. "Whatever. Propriety is overrated anyway."

The argument escalates from there. Soon enough, the prince is shoving the servant's shoulder and then they're calling each other stuff like dollophead and suddenly, Merlin's heel catches on the edge of the open wardrobe and he falls into a heap of old dusty coats (with some suspicious-looking stains on them: the last feast they'd been worn on must've ended in a food fight). Of course Arthur is holding onto Merlin's sleeve and falls with him. Momentarily they are blinded because of the clothes that rain over them. Then the prince grunts, managing to drag himself to his feet; he fumbles to get Merlin up as well. But, for some reason, perhaps by a gust of wind, the wardrobe door has shut firmly, and he cannot find it. Arthur reaches out a hand trying to find the walls … but there are no walls! No solid wood. His hand just finds air and fur and silk fabrics.

Who knew a wardrobe could be this  _huge_?

"Arthur," a muffle voice comes from his left, "stop stepping on my foot!"

"I'm  _not_  stepping on your foot!"

"Sure not."

He bumps into something, which is more solid than the clothes. "Then stop shoving me!"

"I  _would_  if I could see where I was going."

" _Mer_ lin." There's an angry growl dangerously close to his ear. "I'm warning you-"

"Oi, I said  _stop_  stepping on my  _foot_ , dollophead!"

An elbow harshly in his side causes Merlin to stumble and blindly he tries to grab onto something, a wall, one of the old coats, but instead of solid wood or warm wool his hand comes in contact with something  _sharp_ , like the pine needles of a fir tree. The air is suddenly cold, stinging against his skin and Merlin cries out in surprise as he falls. His vision is suddenly filled with startling daylight.

Something lands with a thud beside him, digging into the white snow which is crisp against his cheek.

Wait …  _snow?_

"What…." Merlin whispers astonished, as he takes in their surroundings, jaw dropping in shock. "What is this place?"

It's a forest, covered deeply with snow, despite the fact that Camelot's winter has thawed into spring five months ago. It's not an illusion, well – if it is, it's very convincing. Eyes wide and filled with wonder and childish delight, Merlin touches the snow, cupping some in his hands. It's icy and sparkles in the sunlight. It's  _real_. The trees hover above them, quiet and majestic. Never before has he seen this kind of untouched, still forest, without a trace for life for miles. He can't hear any sign of birds or animals. Perhaps it is because of the winter…

"What –  _what the hell happened?_ " Arthur has regained his voice with a shout, the words bouncing off with an echo. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," Merlin responds, equally curious but not as loud. "I'd like to find out, though."

"We're still in the wardrobe, we must be," Arthur states staring dumbly around him, at the trees and gently falling snow and clear daylight. "How can there be a forest in a wardrobe? How on earth does it  _fit_?"

In the centre of the clearing before them there's a strange … light. On top of a tall iron bar, flickering but going strong. It's an odd thing which neither of them recalls having seen before, in Camelot or outside it. "What's that?" Merlin muses aloud, reaching out to touch it. Quickly he draws back because it's icy cold.

"I'm not sure … probably some sorcerer's attempt at a joke."

Merlin humphs. "Of course," he mutters quietly to himself, "everything is magic's fault, sorcerer this and sorcerer that …" Although it sounds very plausible. Because how else could they have walked through a wardrobe into this strange land? Of course it's magic. Merlin just hopes it's not some prank or a sorcerer's evil revenge, because it'll piss Arthur off so much and then Merlin will be stuck with him here for god knows how long.

Despite the initial confusion and wariness (Arthur has drawn his ever-present sword) curiosity overtakes them and they decide to explore the area. At least the nearby area. They turn back toward the wardrobe; several layers of clothes are visible through the trees. Arthur reaches for and pulls out two coats. One turns out to be that livery which Merlin had worn ages ago when King Bayard visited Camelot, including the dreaded hat. As the prince recognizes it and is struck by a hysterical laughing fit Merlin snatches the clothes from his hands and throws them away. "I will  _not_  wear that."

"But, Merlin," Arthur gasps through two bouts of laughter, "it suits you so fine."

The servant glares at him and puts on a red jacket instead, and the prince fails to hide his pout. "At least take the hat?" he says in his most pitiful-puppy-voice and Merlin magics the hat into a bunny which happily leaps away through the snow. "There went my entertainment," Arthur sighs.

Eventually, they're both a bit more warmly dressed and starts wandering from the clearing with the Strange Pillar with the Light. The forest, they both notice, is incredibly quiet. There doesn't seem to be any birds or wildlife around, and the wind is but a whisper.

"We should try and find civilization," Arthur decides firmly. "There must be a King of this place."

It sounds like a good idea, so Merlin agrees with a nod.

()()()

The forest is bloody  _vast_. And the snow is thick and never-ending. And it's  _cold_. Merlin would like some hot tea. His feet feel like they could fall off. But, Arthur is adamant and wants to find the inhabitants of the World In The Wardrobe and their leader, king or lord or queen, whichever it may be. Thus, they continue.

After what feels like ages of just walking in circles, the forest looking pretty much the same ("Don't worry, we're not lost," Arthur says at Merlin pointing this out; "I'm a hunter and expert tracker; I know how to make my way through a forest." – Merlin thinks the prince is a bit stupid, because this is a completely strange place where none of them have been before, and they should turn back before they freeze to death), they somehow reach a riverbank.

"Great, it's cold but the water isn't frozen," the servant mutters. "Should we walk around it? Maybe we should turn back now."

"We could swim."

Merlin stares at him incredulously. "Are you crazy? We'll freeze our asses off!"

Arthur looks at him pointedly. "Then use your …  _you know_." And he waves his hand around in some manner that could imply either 'magic' or something incredibly naughty, causing the warlock to look at him oddly and blush.

()()()

They end up using Merlin's ... you know, which carries them safely over the rushing waters and kindly through some golden pixie dust shows the rest of the way, creating a coiling path through the trees. The now quite green trees.

"It's thawing!" Merlin gasps in wonder, looking around. An hour ago they had to shred the thick jackets; faintly they hear birds singing, and there are tiny blooms in the grass.

"Thank god, I thought I was going to lose my feet," mutters Arthur and trudges along. Why haven't they found a village or town yet? God, it'd be their typical  _luck_  if this land is totally uninhabited.

()()()

"Welcome," greets the man-horse-thing, "to Aslan's camp."

"Err, excuse me, but what are you? I've never seen anyone like you before," Merlin asks curiously. He's never seen a creature like this before in his life! Maybe it's magical? Oh! A horse's body with a man's chest, arms and head – yes, it probably is. Merlin isn't, of course, bothered: he's a warlock and despite the man-horse's serious expression it doesn't seem like he wants to do harm.

Arthur doesn't take it so well, though. "Argh! Merlin, step back!" he cries, whipping out his sword and coming to stand between the servant and the man-horse."I order you as Prince of Camelot to answer me! Who's Aslan and what manner of creature are you?"

The man-horse is not impressed, frowning in a way that could easily outmatch Gaius' most serious This Is Bad Business-face. "I am a centaur," it says, addressing Merlin more than Arthur. "You are expected."

"We are?" Merlin asks, blinking. "We don't even know  _where_  we are …"

"Your coming has been foreseen: long have we known of your destiny."

"Oh my god," Arthur says, dismayed. "Are you in cohorts with the bloody dragon?" He turns to Merlin, sounding angry and upset: "I knew it! It's a huge conspiracy. We're being  _stalked_..."

()()()

A mouse is standing on two paws next to a tent pole and it, of all bizarre things, has a tiny  _sword_  at its side. At seeing the two, it merrily greets them with: "Oh, hello there, good sirs!"

"It  **talks**! It's a mouse and it  **talks**!" It's not a girly scream, honest, but it gains them quite a few odd looks from the people (well, animals and maybe-magical creatures) around them.

Merlin grabs Arthur's arm before the prince can attack and hack anyone to pieces, starting to steer him away but the prince keeps staring. "Stop doing that! What's wrong with you? This is the  _fifth_  time, can't you get it already that the mice and rabbits  _won't_  hurt you even if they talk."

The mouse shares a compassionate look with the warlock, nudging Arthur's calf. "Not very bright is he?"

()()()

Apparently everyone is crazy around here. It varies in degree, naturally, but they're all more or less nuts. Arthur comes to this conclusion over a flagon of hot spiced wine (which a faun had given to him).

The camp is filled with all manners of creatures. Lots of these centaurs, all with swords, bows and arrows or both. Then there are dryads and fauns – Arthur stares a little too long, jaw dropping the first time he sees the man with goat legs. He receives an irritated glare in return. "Stop staring," Merlin mutters, "it's not polite."

The warlock gets on surprisingly well with everyone here. He smiles and talks friendlily and people actually  _answer_  his questions (Arthur simply is given a huff or shrug). A family of talking foxes gladly lets Merlin share lunch with them; the pickled eggs were particularly good. Mr and Mrs Beaver are very kind too, offering a spare seat. Mrs Beaver keeps fussing as if the warlock is just a child and not, in fact, the most powerful warlock ever.

The animals talks a lot and whenever they see Merlin and Arthur they go, like, "Oh it's that Prince from Came-a-lot with his warlock, I've heard they have some great destiny" and the littlest ones gather around Merlin's feet asking him to tell them stories about dragons and kings and sorcerers and stuff. Which is incredibly  _annoying._

As strange, utterly weird, this place is, Arthur isn't used to this … being  _ignored_. Not outright ignored, but he's constantly in the sidelines, second best, not in the center of the spotlight. Why is  _Merlin_  getting all of the stupid attention? Why aren't the talking animals, fauns and centaurs gathering around  _him, the prince,_  when they want to know about Camelot?

"Look ..." he says finally when he's sitting by the campfire, Merlin by his side. The warlock stifles a yawn, tired from having been telling stories all day, and he starts leaning against the prince's shoulder and Arthur doesn't mind really. "... I don't know why we've been brought here or where exactly we are, because none of these strange talking animals will tell me, stubborn as they are. I need some answers, now, or I'll-"

Then this large freaking  _lion_  appears like out of nowhere causing the prince to fall back and drop soup allover himself.  _"Gaah!"_  The soup's bloody hot, scorching his tunic. Merlin startles awake at the sudden movement.

"Whaah?" he murmurs, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "What'd I miss?"

"Worry not, sons of Adam," intones the lion in a booming powerful voice. "Your reason for coming here will soon reveal itself. It is a vital part of your Destiny."

After the lion leaves Arthur looks even more confused. "Merlin … your father's name isn't Adam is it? Mine isn't Adam. I think. Oh god! What if it is? What if we – no! We can't be _brothers_  can we? I can't have  _besmirched_  my brother!"

Merlin's ears turn redder than ripe tomatoes. "Shh! Please don't be so loud about th- _that_! And Arthur, I'm  **not**  your brother."

"Oh my god, I've  _despoiled_  and  _bedded_  my brother!" Arthur keeps angsting, pulling his hair, eyes wide, breath quickening in horror.

"Arthur, just  _listen_  to me –" Merlin, who has seen reason, tries to convince him but he's cut off by panicked rambling.

"Father's going to  _kill_  me! – Oh. Wait a minute. No. That can't be right, because if Uther isn't my father (but I'm certain he is!) then he wouldn't punish me for … but then again he's the king … and this Adam bloke, I've never heard his name before … Oh no, there's no logic left in my life, just forests in wardrobes and baby wyverns and strange talking blokes! I mean animals. Nothing of this makes any sense whatsoever!"

The nearby badger just grins and shakes his head. They really are odd, those humans.

()()()

The message travels hastily through camp: "The attack will begin at dawn." Animal and human alike prepares themselves for battle, armours are being put on and weapons readied and the generals assemble for some last-minute strategy plans.

Arthur reacts accordingly. "Attack? There's a bloody  _war_  going on? Damn it - we're always caught up in odd business we really shouldn't and then it's too late to back out," Arthur mutters and paces, and glares at the nearest person which turns out to be Merlin, jabbing a finger at the servant. "This is all  _your_  fault, Merlin!"

"My fault – my fault?" Merlin exclaims, eyes narrowing. He drops the sword he's been polishing with a heavy clang. "This is not my fault!  _I'm_  not the supercilious prat who so obnoxiously demanded a new wardrobe he's really got no use for! What the hell did you need it, anyway? You've got plenty of room in your old wardrobe! You don't use most of those coats anyway, you - you dollophead!"

"I'm the Prince and can do what I wish and I'll have you know I'm  _certainly not_  a supercilious prat, or a dollophead! Why you-"

They move closer and closer, faces mere inches from each other as their voices raise in anger - almost close enough to ...

"Prince Arthur; young warlock," a centaur says with a slight bow as he enters their tent, interrupting the argument. "Your presence is required by the Kings and Queens immediately."

"This isn't over. We'll continue this later," Arthur mutters to his servant with a final dangerous warning glare.

()()()

So, there's a war, apparently because of a witch and some children siblings who are not from this world. Merlin is immediately intrigued. "Where are you from then?" he asks the children, and is hit by a thought, "Did you come through the wardrobe?"

"Yes!" the youngest, Lucy, exclaims with a smile. "I was the one who first found it, by accident: we're living with the Professor, see, because of the war we had to leave London. Then Edmund came through and the witch met him and … Well, it's quite a long story. What about you?"

"I was cleaning that prat's–" Merlin points at Arthur, who loudly protests, "-stupid new wardrobe back in Camelot and we kind of had a row, and we fell through and into … here. Narnia, I think they call it." The siblings nod to confirm this.

"Camelot?" Susan, the oldest girl, asks curiously. "I've heard of it, as part of the Arthurian legends … hang on! You're Merlin and Arthur. You're the real ones, from the books I've read! That's amazing. I thought it was just myth."

Merlin nods carefully but confused. "Yes … I'm real …?" What legends are the girl speaking of? He really wants to know but, naturally, he's cut off before he opens his mouth by a certain prince.

"And you're going to be Kings and Queens of this land," Arthur puts in, haughtily, narrowing his eyes at the children. The underlying meaning is  _'You're all too young and childish'_ , definitely - Merlin rolls his eyes. The prince is no one to speak! He's not even King yet!

"Really."

"Really," the oldest boy Peter puts in, using a mirrored tone. The two are quickly drawn into a staring match, both of their hands inching closer and closer to their swords. "And you are really Prince Arthur of Camelot."

"Really."

"Honestly, Arthur," Merlin groans, "can't you at least try to make friends without drawing your sword every five minutes?"

Slowly both prince and king raise their weapons, to the horror and/or amusement to the onlookers, who have gathered in a circle around them. Murmurs ripples through the crowd.

"Wait one moment," Arthur says when he gets a closer look at Peter's now unsheathed sword, metal gleaming in the sunlight. "That's – that's  _my_  sword! That's  _Excalibur_! Isn't it, Merlin?"

"No," says the young King. "This is Rhindon,  _my_  sword."

"Obviously it's a copy," Merlin says, too tired of this to really care. "Excalibur is still in the stone and … Hang on, how do you know about it?"

The prince waves his hand, like  _'Of course I know, I'm the_ _ **prince**_ _' -_  which explains everything.

"What about a duel?" Arthur suggests and Peter catches the gauntlet in one hand. "I bet you're far too young and untrained to beat me. Let's prove who's the best fighter."

With a sigh, the warlock hides his face in his hands. He really needs to have a serious talk with Arthur about attitude.

()()()

The servant tries to stifle a grin (and failing horribly) at seeing the state of the prince, his rumpled hair and downcast face. "It could've been worse," he says trying to up the mood.

Arthur of course doesn't listen and is quite devastated. He's probably going into shock. "I  _lost_. To a  _boy_  who's at least four years younger than me. A simple  _child_."

"Still, you could've been heavily injured-"

"It'd been better if I was injured! Then at least I wouldn't have to feel so ashamed!"

"There, there," Merlin says patting the prince's back, "think of it on the bright side. At least you're not dead."

()()()

So, there's a battle, eventually. Since his very painful humiliating defeat, Arthur will do anything to regain his honour and manhood. He throws himself into battle full-force, refusing to back down, and he is so fierce that any man facing him would turn around in fear. But his angry battle-roar is nothing compared to the gathered masses of the witch's. What's worse, the Narnians are outnumbered, that big lion which Arthur assumed was some kind of saint who'd save them all has gone and he's still very grumpy about the whole duel affair. Has he mentioned that the witch can turn anything living to stone with that wand/staff-thing?

Oh fuck.

"Merlin! Take cover!" Arthur yells when he sees the witch turn toward said oblivious warlock, staff raised. "MERLIN!"

In the last second Merlin swirls around, hearing his name, and manages to throw a shield spell to prevent the witch's magic from hitting him. The woman looks shocked and outraged. Merlin wastes no time: eyes glowing gold, he sets off a chain of spells against the witch, who uses her staff to counter. It looks at first quite even, but Merlin is the Most Powerful Warlock Ever and Arthur has faith in him.

"Hah," Arthur says, smirking proudly when seeing his friend engage the witch in a magical battle. "Take that, bitch!"

In the end it turns out all right. The lion hasn't disappeared completely, but appears with a roar, and finishes off the witch after Merlin had damaged her quite badly. The warlock however is drained by using so much magic, and as soon as the fight is over promptly collapses. Arthur is fortunate enough to stand next to him when it happens and manages to catch him.

Lucy rushes forward, clenching a vial in her hand. "Is he hurt?" the girl asks worriedly. "Here, let him have a couple of drops of this."

The vial contains some kind of miracle medicine which Gaius would envy with every fibre of his being, and after a moment of coughing and spluttering Merlin comes to, and smiles up at the prince who's holding him.

"Still alive then?" Arthur asks and Merlin pokes his chest and Arthur leans down to kiss him, wet and desperate, and everything is all right again.

()()()

The four siblings are officially crowned King and Queens of Narnia a couple of days later: the castle is large and nice and quite white, situated near the beach with refreshing breezes rolling in from the ocean. Arthur has relaxed in a hot royal bath for the first time in forever and then cuddled in bed with a not so reluctant Merlin (despite calling Arthur a dollophead) and then they walk down the beach, hand in hand (where no one can see them of course). It's kind of nice being so free, with no one minding their relationship and arguing and sharing looks over the dinner table, even if they both miss Camelot horribly. It's been well over a week now, probably more.

"So if we've fought a war and they're Kings and Queens now, shouldn't we return home?" Merlin says later that evening.

"Yes," Arthur says even if he's kind of worried about these youngsters being left alone to rule because, honestly, they're just children and –

"Are you worried about them?" Merlin asks knowingly, smiling at him.

"Of course not! I'm just thinking if we could bring a casket of that fine wine, or two, with us."

The warlock gives him an exasperated look. "You know Gwaine would only drink it all away at once!"

"True." Arthur kisses him again, swallowing Merlin's laughter: he's found himself doing that a lot lately.

()()()

"Your role here has been fulfilled. You must now continue to your own land and complete your destiny," the lion announces, much to their relief. "Albion awaits you. I shall send a guide with you back to your own world."

"Will we ever come back?" Merlin asks.

"Perhaps, but do not try to, because then you never will," the lion responds mysteriously.

"I have a question, oh great lion," Arthur says with respect, even if he's slightly wary of the lion (it's the destiny-thing, nothing personal), the lion did slay the witch after all and thus saved Merlin's life. "Have you ever spoken to a dragon with the name Kill-yah-him?"

"Kilgarrah," the warlock murmurs out of the corner out his mouth.

The lion looks slightly amused. "I cannot say I have. Now, I must take my leave."

Arthur's shoulders fall as the lion walks away calmly and melts into the evening darkness. Waves lull gently against the shore, water tickling his feet. "I still don't get the whole Adam thing."

()()()

"Here," the faun with the red scarp points between the pine trees and rightly enough, they catch a glimpse of red and brown and yellow fabrics. "This is the entrance back to the Kingdom of Spare Oom."

"Thank you, Mr Tumnus," Merlin says gratefully.

Arthur looks perplexed. "Spare Oom?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sire; I think you know it as Come-a-lot."

The prince continues to look bewildered. "It leads to two places? Did those children come from … Spare Oom? I thought they said they come from that London place …"

The warlock tugs at the prince's sleeve impatiently. "Come on, Arthur. I want to go home."

"May your journey be safe," Mr Tumnus says, waving a hand in farewell.

()()()

The wardrobe is warm and full of old smelling coats and suddenly they are blind again: just darkness surrounding them. Disorientated they trample each others' feet and swear and then, the door is opened and they fall out into a heap of limbs and fabric on the stone floor. There's a harsh  _ahem, ahem_  which immediately gives Merlin's bad vibes, and he looks up carefully.

Gaius stares at them reproachfully. "What on earth were you doing in there?" the physician demands. "You're late for dinner, young man! I have waited for over an hour. No desert for you." He gives Merlin a warning look, and then turns to Arthur, with horns sprouting from his forehead and a gaze that could make hell freeze over in fear. The prince looks stoic but inside he's quivering slightly. "And  _you_! You should know better, young prince, than to attempt to slander my ward!"

Without further ado Gaius grabs Merlin by the ear and wrenches him out of the prince's arms, dragging him out of the room. The warlock's voice is frantic: "Gaius! I-I can explain! There was a magical forest in the wardrobe full of talking animals and a great lion and we fell in by mistake – you've got to believe me! Arthur didn't –  _not that_!"

The physician mutters something about chastity and propriety.

_Ouch, that was painful,_  Arthur thinks but doesn't dare say it aloud. He wouldn't put it past Gaius to have some kind of super-hearing (at least about these kind of things).

And if Arthur thinks  _that_ hurt, he's seen nothing yet. After all, he has to face his father for dinner in two candle-marks, and he knows how Gaius has this awful habit of letting Uther know everything that the King already doesn't know.


	30. Touch Stuff Presented To Him by Old Crones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: A kind of Disney/fairy-tale crossover._

It must he Thursday. Thursdays never goes well. This alone should be enough a warning hunch, but alas, this is not the case, and the Prince of Camelot walks through the city with his manservant completely at ease.

Well. Not completely. He has some stuff to worry about - like his knights who really had to toughen up, especially that new one, Bedivere, who starts crying every time anyone as much as nudges his shield (one-on-one combats are near  _impossible_ ), some of said knights who also seem to be plagued by lecherous thoughts and might dare to jump out from the nearest corner and, err,  _attac_ k the prince's manservant. And lastly, said manservant, who kept pointing at cute ponies and tripping over air and other things like that which stresses the prince immensely.

However, despite some such worrisome thought, Arthur is at ease. It's a nice bright day, Merlin hasn't fallen and broken his leg/arm/whatever yet and no peasant has come running up to bother the prince with questions about taxes, swords or cows (that man shrieking "He's oppressing me!" didn't really count). Especially he was happy about Merlin's smile. Because when Merlin's happy, Arthur's happy. Most of the time, anyway. If not the happiness involves knights or strange men, because that makes Arthur less happy.

Anyway, they're walking through the city market on this sunny day, with not a worry in the world, and it's a Thursday. Keep this closely in mind.

Arthur is wrapped up in his own mind examining some leather-bound books on a merchant's stand (hm, maybe he'd buy one for Merlin to write in? He's quite certain that Merlin is the kind of persons who make up silly rhymes about unicorns or write his diary every nights before going to bed. But then, the book is leather-bound, and Arthur knows that his manservant might react badly at dead animal skin …) when an old woman, sitting across the street spinning some yarn, motions Merlin to come over. "Hello boy," she says in a creaky voice, "wouldn't you want to buy some yard? Something colourful to make a neckerchief, perhaps." She mutters something on her breath and if you lean in closely you could see the flash of gold in her eyes, on her not such a nice colour. And of course Merlin doesn't suspect a thing, smiling and all. "Let me show you how the spinning wheel works," the woman continues, and smiles (kind of creepily) when Merlin nods and continues to watch.

The prince doesn't notice until then. "Merlin," he says turning around, just having finished purchasing an empty book and a quill, "what's holding you? Let's go ba– "

Just that moment Merlin has touched the spindle with his fingertip. Any reasonable person would have known to never touch spindles presented to them by old, warty women. But Merlin isn't like most people. Arthur reacts just in time to rush forward and catch the boy when he falls, unconscious into the prince's arms.

"Hahaha! Fooled you!" the old crone cackles, gaining the attention of all the people on the market. "Now, the boy is cursed to sleep for ever and ever!" And a dark green smoke wraps around her and then she disappears into it. After a moment the cloud opens and a hand reaches out, grabbing the spinning wheel, "Can't forget this important thing," and then it all vanishes into thin air, leaving no trace whatsoever.

"Come back, foul sorceress!" Arthur shouts, brandishing his sword. "Come back and undo the spell!"

But it's too late. Devastated, Arthur looks at the servant in his arms, who looks completely at peace, eyes closed: like he's just taking an afternoon nap. "Wake up," the prince begs quietly, "Merlin. Come on, wake up. There's no time to be lazing about … you still have to muck out the stables, and walk the dogs. Wake up! Merlin! Please…" There's no response, no reaction whatsoever.

()()()

"Gaius! Gaius! Help!"

The physician looks up startled at the prince barges in yelling at the top of his voice. At seeing the prince's frantic expression and then, to his horror, his own ward unconscious in Arthur's grip Gaius flies to his feet. "What happened?" he exclaims. "Set him in the bed over there."

"We were down at the market," Arthur says. "There was this old woman, a sorceress. I don't know why but she made Merlin touch a spindle and then he just fell down and then she disappeared, using magic. She said he was cursed to an everlasting sleep ..." The prince's breath hitched, and Gaius knew the prince well enough to realize he was close to tears. "What if he won't ever wake up? What if I … what if we can't fix it?"

"We'll find a cure, sire," Gaius assures him.

"I'll do anything I can to help!"

"Then you can start with this." The physician shoots a very heavy book under the prince's nose, and Arthur barely manages to catch it, nearly getting his toes crushed. "There might be something on page 569."

()()()

Hours passes into days. Days into weeks.

Even Uther has noticed the absence of that clumsy servant now. So he goes to ask Gaius if anything has befallen the boy, and is mighty surprised to find the physician's chambers overrun with knights, a prince and lots and lots of old books. The men look completely exhausted, pouring over the texts. They might have been in frenzy before, but now their tiredness overrides their desperation, and the words swam before their eyes: one of them muttered something about needing a headache remedy and searched through the physician's shelves to find one.

"What's this?" the King demands and turns to his son, who looks like a total wreck with dark rings beneath his eyes and some careless stubble along his chin; he's forgotten to shave, which is very unprincely.

"Oh, father," Arthur says. "… I'm sorry for missing that … council meeting, I think it was …"

A raised unimpressed eyebrow is sent his way. "That was two days ago, son."

"Oh … I'm sorry anyway."

"Why didn't you arrive and why are some of Camelot's knights and you sitting here reading old dusty books, when you should be tending to your duties and training? Don't tell me you're reading fairytales or something else just as silly," the King growled, "I  _will_   _not_  have it."

"We're trying to find a cure. We're helping Gaius," explains the Prince.

Uther frowns. "Cure?"

"Yes. Merlin …" The prince's face darkens even more, and he looks so desolate and sad and worried, the nearest knight lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Merlin was the victim of some kind of spell this old woman cast, and by touching a spindle he … he just fell asleep, but won't wake up, he doesn't respond to anything. It's strong magic."

"What?  **Magic** , in  **my**  kingdom! No! I  _won't_  have it!" fumes the King, seeing red. Oh, damn it! No matter how many he beheaded, the sorceress seems to multiply tenfold! He cannot have this! If he doesn't do anything drastic soon, in the future witches and wizards will be running wild across the kingdom. "This is grave indeed. When was this? Has the sorceress been found?"

Arthur quickly counts on fingers and toes. "Two weeks, five days and eight hours ago. And no, we searched but she seems to have disappeared completely." His face is dark and sober. "If we do not find a cure soon, it might be …" He swallows harshly. "It might be too late."

"Damn it," mutters the King, "and I was in the mood for a big bonfire ... Well, we'll comb the kingdom after the sorceress. I'll give Gaius all the time and resources he needs to find a cure. You may proceed."

()()()

That very same evening there is, finally, good news. Gaius returns from his search in the library with a thick heavy volume considering mostly of dust. The prince and the knights startle and cough violently as it falls onto the table with a bang: half of the men were snoozing.

"I think I'm onto something," Gaius says and opens a page somewhere in the middle.

"But that's a children's tale," Leon points out when seeing the title.

"Yes, but it might also contain a grain of truth. Here, listen:  _'... Once upon a time there was a Princess, who at her birth was given three gifts by three king Fairies: the gift of song and the gift of beauty were the first two. Just as the third Fairy were to give the Princess her final gift, an evil Fairy, who practiced dark magic, appeared in a cloud of dark green smoke. And the Evil fairy cursed the Princess to at her sixteenth birthday befall a terrible fate: touch a spindle and die before the sun sets. The court was horrified, as were the three king Fairies. But it was a curse and thus irrevocable.'_

"Hang on, I fail to see what this has to do with Merlin," Gwaine cuts in, "lest he's a Princess and I'm fairly sure he isn't. We already got one Princess, what's to do with two? Save for the obvious of course: I wouldn't mind having him, Princess or not, in my be-"

Arthur elbows him in the ribs. "I forbade you from calling me such! And don't talk of Merlin like that!"

"Boys," Gaius admonishes them and they manage to look at least partly guilty and ashamed. "I haven't reached the point yet _. '… At her sixteenth birthday, the Princess was fooled by an old woman to touch the spindle of a spinning wheel, causing to fall into a deep sleep. There was nothing to prevent this. Originally the Evil Fairy's curse meant for her to die, but, thanks to the invention of one of the three Kind Fairies, it sent her to sleep for a hundred years… But there was one way to break the curse: with the First Kiss of True Love.'_ "

"A kiss!" Gwaine cries out. "That's it! Why didn't we think of this before?" and he stands and marches over to the bed, where Merlin lay asleep, and before Arthur or any of the other knights can rush forward to intervene, he leans in-

"No! Stop!" shouts Gaius, and Gwaine draws back immediately. The physician grumbled angrily at them. "Didn't you boys listen at all? It says  _first_  kiss. We only have  _one_  chance! If we're wrong about who is to kiss him, then we'll have to find another cure, and who knows how long that'll take or if there even  _is_  another cure?"

"We have to think through this very carefully," Leon says, sinking back into his chair, eyes flickering between his comrades.

"I could do it," Gwaine says. "It could easily be me! I mean, I'm his best friend and everything."

"Or me," says Lancelot with a proud smile, "I befriended Merlin first, and have treated him well over the years. And I'm more handsome than you."

"Are not!"

"Am too!"

" **I** ," Arthur exclaims loudly and stands up on his chair for emphasis, "am the handsomest and strongest of us all. I'm also the Prince. And I've known him the longest. Of course it's  _I_ who am supposed to kiss Merlin!"

Percival stands too. "I protest! To all of you!"

"Oh gods," groans Elyan hiding his face in his hands. "Now look what you've started, Gaius!"

"Boys." Silence. "Good. Listen to me. The question isn't who's the strongest or handsomest or best friend." Gaius glares at the whole bunch, since as the boy's mentor and father-figure he disapproves of them all in some manner - they're all fighters with no idea how to clean their own socks and more or less arrogant and what Merlin needs, Gaius thinks, is a considerable, thoughtful lover who is very reliable. As he explains this to the knights they all look quite downfallen.

"The question is," Gaius continues, "whom is Merlin most likely in love with?"

The first one to go from Gaius' mental list is Gwaine: the man flirts and drinks too much, even if he has some sense of humour and at least knows how to properly tend to one's hair. Next, Elyan, he doubts Merlin thinks of the knight of anything more than a friend; they don't know each other that well. Percival – maybe, the man is kind and thoughtful. Leon – maybe, too, though he's got a worrisome fixation to his crossbows. But, Gaius isn't stupid. Of course he knows there could really only be  _one_  person whom Merlin truly loves.

"Arthur," the physician says gravelly, "you have my permission to kiss my ward."

The knights splutter at this announcement and Arthur grins smugly. "Ha! In. Your. Face."

"If it doesn't work I'm all in for it," Gwaine offers. "If it does work, though, I suggest we all go to the tavern and celebrate!" He's mostly ignored. Everyone is focusing on the prince now, and his next move. But the prince isn't moving, just staring at Merlin.

"Any day now, sire," Gaius says. There's a displeased frown on his brow. It's clear he doesn't like the thought of letting anyone touch his ward and wants it quickly over with.

Arthur's throat feels suddenly dry. But this is not the time for hesitation! He's not a coward, for heaven's sake! It's just a bit rattling to take Merlin's first kiss knowingly, even if it breaks a terrible curse. Swallowing, he leans down slowly, placing his hands on either side of Merlin's face. Slowly, carefully. Merlin's lips are warm and soft and kind of wonderful when he meets them in a short, chaste kiss.

The warlock's eyes opens, he looks at the prince, blinking confused. "Arthur? What happened?"

The prince gasps. "Merlin! It worked! You're awake!" And in his joy, he leans down to give Merlin a second kiss, a proper one, and a third and perhaps even a fourth. Merlin is surprised but returns them happily; Gaius' frown deepens.

"Well, whatcha say? Tavern, here we come!" Gwaine drags Leon, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot with him out of the door before they can protest.

Gaius walks over and pulls Merlin into a strong fatherly hug, interrupting any further kisses. An old man has his limits. "Now I'm just relieved that you're safe, Merlin. We were very worried about you."

"I don't remember much," Merlin says. "Was I out cold for that long?" He reaches out to touch Arthur's stubble, foreign beneath his fingertips, and the prince kisses him again. "That tickles," Merlin giggles.

"You may continue that later," Gaius tells the pair, who lightens up.

"Tonight?" Arthur asks hopefully.

"No!" growls the physician. "Have you no ability to keep your hands off my ward for a few hours?"

The prince dearly hopes this doesn't meant Gaius plans to make Merlin wear a chastity belt, or something. That'd be a horrible fate indeed.

()()()

King Uther is also rewarded: they catch this witch who's selling – or attempting to sell, at least – very red, very magically poisoned apples (especially seeming to favour maidens baking pie. Arthur is glad Merlin has no idea how to bake pie.) and the king can have his longed-for big bonfire. He's not quite sure what the bunch of short people are doing there, though, dancing around the flames (except for one of them which falls asleep every five minutes and the other one who sneezes every time he tries to dance, maybe he's allergic to something).

Anyway, they don't seem to have any kind of magic, so Uther lets them go and they march out of the city singing about mines. Which was probably for the best; a couple of hours later Gaius find an old book with a story, warning that the horrible curse of Eternal Baldness would befall any man who kills a dwarf fond of singing (Uther is relieved he hadn't executed any of the dwarves, for going bald is his worst nightmare).

For future reference, this was a Tuesday, not a Thursday. They're always better than Thursdays.


	31. Wear Evil Belts to Which Arthur Doesn't Have the Key

It's something that's been bothering Gaius for a time now.

It started two months ago, give or take a week or so, when during one of his errand runs he saw his ward in the company of a stable boy in a corner, near the water pump. The stable boy had taken off his shirt to wash himself off; Merlin had just given him a pail of water. They stood close together, shoulders bumping together and his ward was smiling.

It would not be so bad if not for said stable boy's hands nearing some of Merlin's more …  _personal_  body parts.

Gaius wouldn't have it, of course.

Merlin looked like a ripe tomato when Gaius quickly led him away from the stable boy (who looked very disappointed) and, later that evening, the feeling intensified as the physician sat down with his ward and over dinner reminded him to look after himself better and not spend time alone with half-naked men (or, well, Gaius would prefer if his ward didn't spend time with men whatsoever, in any manner, like any worried guardian would, but this would of course pose some difficulties when serving Prince Arthur who is very male).

After this disturbing incident, the physician has kept a close eye on his ward - he's done before, to make sure Merlin doesn't use magic carelessly (again) and gets caught ( _again_ ), but this is different. His watching is more intense; followed by inquires at dinner if his ward has met anyone in particular or if there's been any other instances, and sharp reminders to never talk to strangers or be alone with any of the knights/stable boys/manservants/anyone really who isn't Gwen - which has made Merlin simply stare at him in confusion.

"I don't get why you suddenly mind this much that I'm being friends with them," the warlock had said once in complete honesty: "You never mind when I spend time with Gwen, but as soon as I mention Gwaine you go  _berserk_! He's not done anything stupid again, has he, like almost burning down the apothecary's or become drunk and swapped all your bottles of the shelf? I told you he didn't mean to, it was an  _accident_!"

It has all worried the physician very much. Every time he sees his ward in any kind of situation with another servant, a stable boy, a knight, visiting lord – or anyone of manhood, really – Gaius is swift to drag Merlin away, fear leaping at his old heart. Because it's his right as mentor and fatherly figure to make sure that no one takes advantage of his ward.

But after the first incident, it gets worse. Gaius finds Merlin in the armoury, polishing a sword, with sir Gwaine standing far too close and doing things very animatedly with his hands, and Merlin smiling at the knight wide (probably oblivious to the man's true intentions).

Then, the servant is swarmed by both familiar and foreign knights during a feast a couple of days later, offered a goblet of red wine, to which Merlin declines politely (thank heavens! thinks Gaius) and then looks confused as Gaius grabs him by the arm and leads him away (the physician considers letting Prince Arthur know of this problem. It would effectively scare off the knights and stable boys, but then Arthur would become aware of his manservant's …  _magnetism_  … and would probably want to claim him for his own – and Gaius can't have the prince taking advantage of his ward! So for now, he doesn't let the prince know of his concerns. If he does he first needs to sort out the Prince's intentions and his ward's own feelings. (It's not something he's eager to broach with either of them.))

But one morning, Gaius is reading through a random, thick book when he comes upon a chapter containing lots of brilliant ideas on the subject. It turns out to be an awesome book. Lots of helpful, concrete tips for tired, wary parents like him.

()()()

A very interesting book:

 _Methods of Protecting Thee Daughter/Son/Ward from Men with Less Than Honourable Intentions. 100 Unique Tips: At Least One Will Undoubtedly Suit_  You!

_The following measures may be taken. Some are less helpful than others, and some can require a higher budget than what a peasant can afford but don't worry, there are low-budget options as well. Note! Proceed with caution when dealing with unsafe things such as dragons, knives and angry knights: things may get vicious._

_Tip #1: In case of unwanted courting of your daughter/son/ward, make a set of rules and make sure the men in question understand them seriously. Scare them off with words! Works better if punishment warnings are added; it might be grounding, food-prohibition, or for the extremer parents, banishment (if you are not a lord/king and thus unable to ban them from the land, then from your house. You might also make deals with local tavern owners about refusing them entry there.) If things take a turn to the worse, speak with your local king/lord/queen; in case they have kids of their own they should be very understanding._

_Note, if you are interested in this suggestion you might also want to look at Tip #4 ("Foul-smelling concoction: Three easy steps in making it work. People will stay away from your daughter/son/ward until expiring date, see notes.") and #17 ("Build a tower! Individual layouts, designs and sizes. For extra protection, use Dragon.")_

()()()

It's a good one. So Gaius marks the page in the corner, in case he forgets, and scribbles in the margin: 'Serious talk w. Gwaine + stable boys ASAP!' Then he pulls out a second parchment, underlining the title Important Rules and sets to work.

()()()

It is just slightly effective, since Merlin still mingles amongst them, talking and laughing. But they all (save Gwaine who truly has guts and possibly blood of ice) distance themselves from him, little by little. By the end of the day, they give him wide berth and mostly leave him alone, giving no reasons as to why and the silence is in Merlin's ears deafening.

Merlin returns to his chambers feeling down and explains to his mentor that his friends suddenly are avoiding him, not lingering to talk needlessly and not taking up his offers of helping them, and he misses them terribly already (and that Arthur is a prat like usual and doesn't seem to notice, which only makes him feel  _worse_ ).

Gaius can't have his ward unhappy (even if it keeps the men away) and the opens his book for guidance.

_Tip #17: Build a tower of your own! Below follows a number different layouts of different sizes and designs. White, grey, black or pink and combinations. N.B – to tame a Guarding Dragon (or Wyvern if your budget is tighter), contact nearest Dragonlord for guidance: do not try on your own! Constant risk of fire damage. Feeding the Dragon properly lowers this risk. But this method is very effective. Any unwanted people nearing the tower will without delay be turned to ashes._

That might get difficult, Gaius figures, he's no Dragonlord and Merlin is incredibly stubborn so he definitely won't agree. But maybe he could convince the Great Dragon to help out nonetheless?

It's worth a shot.

()()()

"No!" growls the dragon angrily as Gaius presents the idea. "That'd ruin all  _my plans_! I will not aid you, old man! Can't you see, it'll get in the way of the big epic romance! Besides, I don't like either of those colours," he adds, huffing, nodding toward the large draft. "It should be  _red and gold_ , not pink."

"How could you be so fussy and stubborn?" Gaius says, incredulous. "Balinor was a terrible influence on you."

"Go back to your cauldron and leave me alone," says the dragon turning his giant back.

 _Now what?_  the physician wonders, thinking hard. Better go back and ask the Book.

()()()

 _Tip #56_  looks very appealing.

It could allow Gaius to lighten the rules and yet let Merlin spend time with the stable boys (and even Gwaine) without being in danger.

So during his rounds the next day, Gaius makes sure to go to the smith (after ignoring Merlin's questions of why he'd needed his measurements taken), leaving an order which raises a curious eyebrow, but the smith doesn't meddle (who knows, he might understand exactly what's going through Gaius' head since he's seen the physician's ward often enough in the city running errands for the prince or by the side of one or two knights or other servants, laughing as they pat his back).

Anyway, Gaius is doing this for Merlin's own good, only to protect him. He's an old man with many worries. His heart soon cannot take all this concern anymore – he deserves a break.

()()()

"Good morning, Merlin. I've a gift for you," Gaius greets his ward a couple of days later and holds out the gift wrapped in a piece of rough woolen fabric.

"A gift? Really? It's not my birthday or anything … But thanks, Gaius!" Merlin is surprised, but doesn't complain otherwise, and takes the package (it's unexpectedly heavy. So it's not a new neckerchief then …) from his guardian's hands, placing it in his lap to unwrap it.

"Err." He stares down at the metal device and leather straps blankly. Then at his mentor, who returns the look without a hint of the dreaded Eyebrow, so Merlin figures that Gaius has expected this reaction and prepared for it.

"What…what  _is_  this?"

"It's a chastity belt," Gaius explains calmly, no embarrassment on his face or in his voice and –  _oh god_ , Merlin thinks,  _did Gaius just say …?_

"It's a WHAT!" Merlin shrieks, slightly terrified, his ears going from white to red in three seconds tops. Because now, like a flash of lightning from a perfectly clear blue sky, he's abruptly found out that Gaius wants to protect him from – well, err,  _that_  – and he's never had any idea Gaius even cared about – his, well,  _activities_ like  _that_ , even if he's not actually seeing anyone at the moment; and it's more than just a  _little bit_  mortifying.

"Well, as your guardian and fatherly figure, it is my duty to make sure you are taken well care of and not have vicious men trying to have their way with you. And even if you happen to be consent, I have to be certain that their intentions aren't to simply leave you after despoiling you, which would anger me greatly-"

"Oh my god. Oh my god." Gaius has – Gaius thinks that – Gaius wants him to wear –"OH MY GOD."

"Do not be so shocked, Merlin. It's for your own best, and soothes me immensely to know that you're safe."

"But I have my magic, I could always – if I don't want to, to ... you  _know_!"

"Merlin, you know what I've said about using magic! You're not careful enough, and I'm not in the mood to meddle you out of the dungeons once more. This is the best way." And the physician holds up the thing and points at the lock on it: "I'll store the key in a safe place, so you do not have to fear for your virtue."

"Y-you can't be  _serious_!" the warlock squawks.

Gaius is indeed. Very. Serious.

()()()

It's so  _uncomfortable_!

The first two or three hours were fine. It's carefully padded, after all. It was fine even if he was terribly late and Arthur complained about his cold breakfast (the contraption took forever to put on, with lots of unnecessarily difficult laces and buckles just to make sure it stayed where it was supposed to. Gaius refused to let him leave the chamber with it on, so it was either wearing it or staying for the rest of his life in the physician's rooms, thus unable to work and protect Arthur. Not an option, really.)

Still, it's not like he's unable to defend himself if anyone tried to – to take liberties with him! (His ears burn at such a thought.) But his evil, evil mentor has not only locked the belt and hidden the key god knows where, but also placed some magical block on the thing. The spell is strong; he can feel it tremble against his skin: most likely Gaius has planned this for _days_.

Now it's tight and warm and he's itching on a spot he can't reach. And Arthur's a big prat as usual and has assigned him to muck out the stables (which he did yesterday), and feed and brush down Hengroen, the Prince's favourite steed. The latter duty isn't that bad, except the horse really likes chewing on the cuffs of Merlin's jacket in addition to the apples the servant has offered him, stubbornly refusing stop. The room is warm and he grows damp and sweaty, and the belt itches even more. He can't wear it anymore!

Merlin glances toward the wide open stable doors. He's alone right now. Maybe ... just a short quick spell. Or he'll run first thing to Gaius after finishing in the stables, and  _demand_  the old man to let him free. When sure no one is nearby, Merlin focuses on the damned belt and his eyes glows gold, he pushes his magic –

And it bounces back almost painfully, causing him to stumble and his heels hits a bucket and he falls onto a soft pile of hay with an "Omph!" Winded, he lies there staring into the ceiling for a moment.

The belt is still there, more secure than ever.

Oh crap. Gaius must have known he'd try this.

The stable hand on duty, Matthew, having heard the clatter, peers inside that moment and his eyes widens at the sight of the boy sprawled on the floor: quickly he crosses the distance to him.

"Merlin? You all right?"

"Yeah," Merlin answers, smiling gratefully when Matthew offers his hand to help him up: somehow though he ends up pulling on Matthew's arm more forcefully than necessary causing the man to fall atop him. "Oof! Sorry. I'm being a big oaf … again."

"It's fine. I've missed being with you, you know, I'm not complaining," Matthew responds a bit above him and presses his body closer much like he'd done last week when Merlin helped to get him water from the pump – but this time is different, the man's hands warmer and breath quicker and he's atop of him too, heavy with muscle. And he presses closer still, closer than anyone has been before.

It makes Merlin's face burn and he squirms and suddenly he realizes this is what Gaius had meant this morning during that gauche conversation. He's not interested in Matthew … that way – Wait, is Matthew going in for a … a kiss?  _Oh my god he is, he_ _ **is**_ _,_  Merlin's mind works at a frantic pace and his pulse speeds up, and he tries to move away. Matthew catches on first, though, with his right hand having glided down Merlin's waist and hip when he suddenly feels something beneath the fabric which isn't skin.

Merlin's breath hitches. "I – I'm not, I don't –"

The man's eyes grow wide like with realization and horror combined. Then, he jumps off Merlin like struck by lightning. "I, err. I got to go." He dashes out of the door like chased by an immortal army. (Which he might as well be. Because if the physician finds out he'll be in Big Trouble.)

()()()

"You're very quiet," Gaius observes at dinner that evening. He's promised to let Merlin take off the belt when finishing his stew, and considering his ward's reluctance earlier he expected him to be enthusiastic of this fact. But Merlin just stirs his stew with a spoon without really eating

"Has something happened?"

"Huh?" Merlin looks up at him and shrugs. "No, nothing."

"I know my ward enough to tell when there's something bothering him. Now, tell me," the physician coaxes.

"Well, I, uhm," Merlin begins slowly but the more he speaks the faster the words rush out of his mouth, needing to be let out along with his blurry befuddled feelings about it all. "Down at the stables, there was this …  _incident_  this afternoon. Well not really an incident, okay, yes, it sort of was but no one was hurt or anything and it's not really serious so anyway, it's nothing worth mentioning –"

"Merlin." Gaius gives him a serious look (including two downward eyebrows) cutting him off in mid-word. "Breathe. And tell me everything that happened."

The warlock nods and takes a deep breath. "Right. The incident, it, I fell and then, err, Matthew, that stable hand, he – walked up to help me but ended up falling atop of me and then he. Uhm." His ears are burning again and he can't look Gaius in the eye. "He tried to, uhm, to kiss me. But just  _tried_  though! He ran off when I sort of told him I, uhm, didn't. Well, err, want that."

A grown rises from the physician's throat. " _What?_ " Thank god he'd the foresight to make Merlin wear the belt!

Staring into his bowl of stew, Merlin looks absolutely miserable. "I don't know why, before I never think he wanted –  _that_. But I like him, he's my friend and he started to act all odd and ran off, and now I'm afraid he  _hates_  me now or something! Just because I don't want to kiss him it doesn't mean I don't want to be his friend! I'm so confused, should I go up and tell him or ignore what happened? Gaius, what should I  _do_?"

"This is serious. Serious indeed," mutters Gaius, scratching his chin in thought.

Merlin continues to murmur to himself dejectedly, not liking the thought of his friend ( _former_  friend…? No, they're still friends, right?) not liking him anymore, because Matthew is always so kind to him and always cheers him up when he's got boring duties and sometimes he even sneaks a sandwich from the kitchens and gives it to the manservant, because he knows how badly Gaius' porridge tastes.

"Maybe I could talk to him … explain ..." Merlin murmurs.

The physician grabs a book from a nearby shelf, pulling it down and opening it on some obscure dusty page. "There should be something here," Gaius says, a finger following the title in fading black ink –  _Methods of Protecting Thee Daughter/Son from Men with Less Than Honourable Intentions. 100 Unique Tips: At Least One Will Undoubtedly Suit_ You!

"Yeah, I'm going to go and do that, now. Okay? Er, Gaius?" Merlin looks up at the physician, who is absolutely absorbed in the book. "Would it be all right if I went to Matthew and explained that to him?"

As the words register in Gaius' brain the physician's head whips up and he stares incredulously at his ward. "What, go to him  _alone_?  **No**! Finish your stew, boy. I'll have a talk with Matthew shortly."

Merlin considers telepathically sending Matthew a warning message (but dismisses it since he can't exactly out his magic like that). Gaius is rather dangerous when he's upset.

()()()

Similar things have happened before. Like that time sir Tanemwyth leaned in close in the hall last week. Or Gwaine the week before (Lancelot had dragged the man away before anything could happen). Back then Merlin had just smiled, not aware of the underlying meanings.

Now, the stupid belt makes him  **notice**. He couldn't go anywhere without being aware of this fact. About people's interest in him and their desire to do … well,  _that_. With him.

Not to mention Arthur.

Arthur, with his prattish grin and sometimes touch-y hands wanting to readjust Merlin's jacket and his low voice which Merlin has always liked, the man's warm eyes fixed on him, his possessive body language whenever he's around Merlin. The too-drawn-out-to-be-innocent glances. Before Merlin hadn't thought of it more than Arthur is being a friend and finally getting over his dollophead-attitude. But now ...

Now Merlin  _notices it all_  and can't believe it's been there for so long.

For all those weeks, months, when Merlin himself has …  _looked_  for too long and silently longed for something to happen and spent nights awake, chest heavy and his mind filled with thoughts that couldn't possibly be all right.

But now he knows! They're not wrong (except Gaius Greatly Disapproves) if Arthur feels the same, right?

If Arthur feels the same …

Merlin pauses in the middle of folding a tunic, sneaking a glance at the Prince at the desk. Who looks back at him. Both quickly avert their eyes.

… If Arthur feels the same, they could … maybe. Yes. Maybe …

But how would Arthur react to the belt? He'd probably withdraw completely, thinking Merlin is wearing it for an important reason. That he's waiting … that he doesn't want to be touched – well, Merlin doesn't want to be touched by anyone  _except Arthur_. How is he supposed to convince Gaius  _that_? His guardian has become unbearable the last few days!

()()()

"Gaius, it's really starting to bother me. Can't I take  _one_  day without the belt?"

"Either you wear it, or I will make this potion," the physician says pointing at a recipe  _(Tip #4)_  and Merlin wrinkles up his nose, glaring at the piece of paper. He doesn't want to go around smelling of garlic and horse manure for the rest of his life, thanks.

Merlin pouts. " ... Fine."

()()()

Arthur has noticed for the last few days how …  _odd_  his manservant is behaving. He's had this look on his face and his eyes, like he's dreadfully uncomfortable or a bit depressed, or both. Has something happened maybe? It's best to find out.

"Is something wrong, Merlin?" he asks as he watches Merlin bend to light the fireplace. And if that watching includes having his eyes more looking at Merlin's firm round backside rather than at the servant's hands, it's just pure convenience.

The prince sounds far too worried and un-prattish than normal, so the servant looks up at him with an inquiring expression. "What? N-no. I'm fine, sire."

"You sure? You've acted off for a couple of days now, clumsier than even your first week. Yesterday you broke two plates and a vase,  _and_  nearly your own arm."

Merlin scrunches up his nose, looking far too cute than he should, forcing Arthur to avert his eyes. "Um, sorry about that. But you never liked that vase anyway."

Arthur waves a hand. The conversation isn't going where he wants it to. "Never mind that. Just tell me what's bothering you. You can tell me, you know," he says, voce softening, "I am your friend as well, not just your Prince. (But tell that to anyone outside this room and I might have you beheaded.)"

"Err," Merlin mutters and looks away, heat flushing up covering his neck and ears. "It's nothing, really."

The prince doesn't look too convinced but lets his manservant help him take off his jacket and put the garment in the wardrobe, then give him a pair of pants to sleep in. As of late, the prince has tried and tried to gain his manservant's attention (well more attention than he's already receiving) by making pointless comments and asking how Merlin's day has been and stuff like that (Gwen had advised him to 'be nice'), but Merlin just doesn't seem to get it. His newest ploy is to walk around shirtless as much as possible, flexing his muscles. He is pleased to find Merlin looking at him a lot more, gazes lingering, but his manservant always shakes his head and averts his eyes bashful and ashamed and doesn't approach the prince. It's very annoying.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Merlin?" Arthur drawls as the servant moves toward the door.

"What?"

"Are the candles going to blow out themselves, hm?"

The prince plops onto the bed with a self-satisfied grin: once again watching Merlin (well, his rear) as he leans down slightly to put out all of the candles. No one can possibly blame him.

"Is that all, Your Royal Pratliness?" Merlin asks flippantly in the kind of tone only he can master in the presence of the crown prince of Camelot.

"Hm. Come over here for a moment will you."

Warily, the servant obeys. He's sure the prince is up to some mischief. Maybe he's going to throw a goblet or pillow or something, the stupid dollophead, or tease him for something or possibly pull at his ears. Self-consciously he moves to stand next to the bed, ready to cover his ears if need be.

In silence, Arthur just looks at him for a while.

"What?" Merlin demands at the stare.

To further embarrassment, Merlin feels his ears grow warm and red.

" _Has_  something happened, Merlin? Is that why you're so … quiet as of late?"

"I can't find a reason why you'd be interested, sire," the warlock says hesitantly, and it's not really a lie: fantasizing freely he can sure find not  _one_  but two, three maybe even four reasons why Arthur would be interested. Unfortunately thinking that makes his whole face flush and causes an interested stir southwards. "I, I got to go now…"

The prince won't let him. A strong hand shoots out shoots out and wraps around his wrist, warm and firm, and pulls him down. Arthur has overestimated his strength though, and Merlin stumbles and falls right atop of him.

He does not mind, though. Merlin is warm and soft and hard in all the right places and he wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. He feels Merlin's breath and heartbeat quicken; the prince hides a satisfied smirk when Merlin groans and moves closer.

"I … I - s-sorry-" mutters the servant and tries to move off half-heartedly.

"You don't want this?" Arthur asks quietly, eyes earnest.

Merlin meets his gaze, breath hitching.

"If I said I really, really want this …" he begins to say and the prince's eyes darken with lust.

"Then I'd be very glad," Arthur fills in and, receiving the servant's consent, he closes the distance between them. The kiss is perfect, as close to perfection Arthur has ever been.

The kiss grows closer, warmer, Arthur grips his manservant's shoulders tight, pulling him close, groaning when Merlin gasps and moans; he slips his tongue inside to taste Merlin's mouth. It's a very, very nice taste; he wants more of it,  _needs_  more of it, needs Merlin's whole body. The servant draws a shuddering breath as the kiss ends, and the prince trails his mouth down along Merlin's delicious neck. Their bodies entwine, hands and legs and arms everywhere; Arthur nuzzles a warm spot on Merlin's shoulder, leaving a tender mark on the pale skin. The servant lets the prince slide off his tunic, baring his chest and pale stomach, and he arches into the man's touch. Merlin moans open-mouthedly, eyelids fluttering, and he tries to grip something,  _anything_  for support, to hold onto.

He tries to form words, make a comprehensible sentence and maybe tell Arthur he's got a slight, err, obstacle locked around his waist but all that comes out of his mouth is something like  _"Nngg"_  and then Arthur touches that sensitive spot again, and Merlin falls into bliss forgetting everything around him.

Encouraged by this response Arthur eagerly begins to unlace Merlin's trousers, pulling them down to reveal …

They both freeze in mid-motion.

Arthur is the first to speak. "Why in the devil's name are you wearing  _that_?"

"Err, I, uhm – Gaius. Gaius made me wear it. Because. Uh, stable boys." Merlin's voice trails off awkwardly and he tries to slip out of the prince's hands, blushing to the root of his hair, but Arthur's grip is possessive and he won't let him go. Something comes in contact with the belt, and Merlin's heart leaps in surprise. "A-Arthur, what are you  _doing_?"

The prince is fiddling with the buckles. "Trying to get you out of it, idiot."

"And you know how to pick locks do you?"

"Maybe," Arthur answers mysteriously. Merlin forces himself to lie back and be still. This is very difficult when you have an incredibly handsome half-naked prince above you desperately trying to also get you naked.

Arthur does know how to pick locks. It's a very useful skill he learned as a child so to be able to reach that cupboard in the kitchens with the cookies, and it's also helped him as an adult. Now, this lock is a tricky one and it takes quite awhile before anything happens. Merlin almost starts whistling a tune because, just because. But he doesn't want to discourage the prince so he keeps quiet, impatiently biting his lip, longing for Arthur's hands and mouth on him again.

Then suddenly there's a soft click. Arthur's eyes lit up and a happy grin spreads over his face. "I did it!"

As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets saying them. Because just that moment the magic in the belt (not that Arthur knows it's magic, only some strange sudden energy burst) activates and closes the lock firmly and, for extra measure, makes an invincible wave push Arthur off. The prince lands on the floor on his romp with an  _ompfh_  and a curse.

"What. The.  _Hell_ ," Arthur growls.

" … Gaius likes to take extra safety measures …" Merlin says vaguely.

"So Gaius has got the key?" The servant nods dutifully. "Right. I'm going to liberate it. Now. Fast." The prince grabs a white shirt hanging over the chair by the table and puts it on. Merlin continues to lie in the bed quite disappointed, betrayed by his pout, and to reassure him Arthur adds, "Don't worry; we'll continue this as soon as I get my hands on that bloody key. Stay here. I'll be  _right back._ "

He's out of the door before Merlin can tell him that it's easiest to convince Gaius if he's nice (not overly demanding). Hopefully he won't be too prattish when facing the physician. If he is, the only way they'll get that key will be by stealing it. Why wouldn't Arthur let him come with him, in case anything goes wrong? What if Gaius has put magical wards on the key as well? Merlin groans like in pain at the thought.

()()()

Ah, there. Gaius. The old man is totally oblivious, discussing with a merchant the price of a pot.

Every now and then, Arthur sees the physician pat his pocket. There! That must be it!

Hm, this will be kind of difficult. The people might react at seeing their prince pick-pocketing. But what choice is there? Carefully, quietly he approaches the man, acting as if he's just out on a casual stroll, greeting people with a nod – slowly getting closer to the old man, who still is standing by the merchant's stall. The discussion has risen to a more aggressive level; clearly Gaius really wants that pot, and the merchant is unwilling to sell it so cheaply (why, Arthur has no idea, since it's such a boring-looking, gray pot).

Then, just the very moment, in the flash of a second as he passes by, Arthur manages to get close enough and using his amazing warrior skills and stealth, he sticks down a hand in the pocket, grabs the metal object he finds and hides it in a closed palm, before continuing his very casual unhurried walk, whistling a merry tune and saying hello the Greg the Guard by the entrance to the citadel.

Ha! So  _there_. His mind is soon filled with lots of naughty things he's planning to do with Merlin. He might even give the servant tomorrow off, to get time to do even  _more_  naughty things.

()()()

As is routine now, Gaius pats his pocket every fifteen minutes to make sure the key is still there. However as he turns from the merchant's stall with a pot firmly in hand, his pocket feels oddly flat and empty.

The key! The key is gone,  _stolen!_

()()()

"What took you so long?" Merlin gasps and Arthur finally reappears, a tiny metal object clenched firmly in his hand.

"Sorry. Had to pickpocket it."

"What! Are you  _crazy_? Gaius could've cut your head off!"

Arthur gives him an odd look, raising an eyebrow, clearly not believing this.

"I mean," Merlin backtracks, as he can't exactly say that Gaius has magic too and could possibly use it in his rage and  _literarily_  cut someone's head off - Arthur would never have believed him. "Figuratively."

"Right."

The prince kneels on the bed, and Merlin can't help but moan and buckle as the man's hands comes in contact with his bare thighs. Then, Arthur inserts the key in the lock, twists it, expecting to hear a satisfying click.

Nothing happens. No sound, not  _anything_.

"Fuck," he mutters and pulls out to inspect the piece of metal. "It's some kind of fake!"

"No fuck is what you mean," Merlin pants heavily, moaning with disappointment, thinking he might be going crazy.

Arthur throws away the annoying object, it lands somewhere beneath a cupboard, and vividly sharing Merlin's disappointment, moves down and kisses the servant's neck again and his now naked arms and abdomen. "Arthur," Merlin groans, "we've got to get rid of the belt! I can't stand it anymore!"

"Yes," the Prince says against the warlock's flat stomach, nuzzling the bellybutton. "I'll find that key. Where could Gaius be hiding it?"

"Dunno," Merlin murmurs, kind of distracted by the Prince's wonderful mouth and hands. "Maybe his chambers. A cupboard. Somewhere. Uhm. A book. Ugh.  _Arthur._ " His voice is higher than earlier, he's on the verge and so, so badly wants to get out of the belt. "Go and find the bloody key instead of  _tormenting_  me!"

"Yes, yes, I'm going," answers Arthur. "But you've got such amazing soft skin and cute bellybutton I just want to kiss and nuzzle. Just, give me a little longer…"

 _"Arthur._ " Merlin's tone changed into a sharp warning, eyes flaring. "If you don't go find it, I'll leave right here and now and you'll  **never**  be given a second chance to-"

"Be patient, darling! I'll be  _right back._ "

The prince darts out of the door. Merlin falls back against the royal bedcovers, sighing. At this rate he and Arthur will never get it on!

()()()

So, if Gaius wears a fake key on his person to fool people, then, the real key mustn't be on his person. It's only logical. What did Merlin say again? Book, cupboard? Maybe. They're all valid hiding places of tiny objects. Thus confident, Arthur marches toward the physician's chambers.

Luckily for him, it appears to be empty. Wasting no time whatsoever he quickly begins his search, starting with the nearest shelf. But it can take awhile, since the room is cluttered with bottles (empty as well as filled with strange green, brown, yellow, red and purple substances), instruments used for god knows what, parchment, quills, rabbit-feet and books. So many, many books. Arthur wonders how many years or lifetimes it'd take to read them all. Gaius could've laid the key  _anywhere_  . In plain sight even.

Fifteen open books, three shelves and eight upturned bottles later, Arthur startles at the sound of footsteps. Damn! The whole room is a mess. There's no time but for him to hide. The bed is narrow and low but miraculously he manages to dive under it out of sight, just as the door opens. The can recognize the end of Gaius' blue robe brushing the floor as the physician walks across the room – toward a small cupboard on the wall. There's a click, something opening, a thud, something being closed, a murmur: "It's still there, phew."

Then the feet moves away and out of the door.

Just to be on the safe side, Arthur waits a couple of minutes. The silence is complete: he's alone. With glee lighting up his face like a Yuletide tree, he crawls out of his hiding place, marches toward the tiny cupboard on the wall. The lock is easy to pick. No magical traps. Inside, there's a small box. Arthur opens it, and, lo and behold! The Key to the Evil Belt!

The prince does a small victory dance. Nobody can see him anyway so it's safe: no one will go about starting the gossip mill about rumours of the prince's dancing skills.

()()()

Merlin has tried to stay calm and focused and patient but it's  _darn hard_  when you want to be shagged senseless by one of Camelot's handsomest men and, honestly, this whole affair is getting ridiculous really, with the keys and traps and silliness and  _why on earth_  did Gaius made him wear the stupid belt in the first place?

Struggling to remain still and calm as he waits, he lies with eyes tightly shut and breathes through his nose. In. Out. When will Arthur get back?  _In_. Oh, he wants Arthur to touch him on that spot again on his neck and maybe kiss him and -  _Out_. – and then  _in_ hard and eager and writhing and –  _O_ _h!_

Something warm comes in contact with his hip and suddenly, the belt loosens and falls off. Merlin's eyes open wide.

"Finally!" he exclaims, but it's more of an intelligible moan.

"I found some oil as well," Arthur says with a smirk and tugs the belt off completely.

()()()

It takes exactly forty-five seconds for Gaius to pinpoint the location the guilty. Only one would be clever enough to reach key. Or stupid enough.

Without ado, he slams the Prince's chamber door open. Just in time to see said Prince getting busy on the bed with the physician's ward, both of them very, very naked and – Gaius' face darkens – is that one of his bottles of oil?

" **Merlin**!" Gaius admonishes. Loudly. Accompanied by the Eyebrow of Doom(TM). "What have I said about being alone with other men? Especially undressed such!"

"G- _Gaius_!" Merlin shrieks in shock and embarrassment and falls off the bed, dragging both the prince and most of the bedding and pillows with him as well, disappearing on the other side of the bed.

" _Mer_ lin, you idiot," Arthur grumbles, rubbing his nose which the servant accidentally hit with his elbow. He stops the motion however when seeing exactly what, or who, interrupted their lovely moment.

"Gaius!" the Prince exclaims in a high-pitched voice. "What - what are you doing here this, err, fine day? Haven't got - pots to, err, to polish?"

The Eyebrow is raised in his direction, which immediately silences him.

"Oh, I was just taking a casual afternoon stroll, when I noticed  _someone_  –" A sharp, evil look, which would make any knight quiver, is sent in the Prince's way – "not so subtly picking something from my pocket. I'm lucky I thought of such a risk and stored the real key in a safe place. But then, to my chagrin, someone had broken into my chambers and stolen the _real_  key. Which does  _not_  make me happy."

Merlin tries to make himself invisible (not using magic) which is, as anyone who's tried this would know, very difficult and doesn't work as well as he'd like.

"Merlin!" the physician barks. "Here. Now! And dress, for heaven's sake, we can't have you running about naked in the castle. I can't stand being more stressed than I already am!"

"But Gaius!" prince and warlock whine as one, the latter doing his best kicked-puppy-look.

"No buts!"

Arthur can't help himself, pinching Merlin's backside, making the warlock shriek in surprise. His mind is slipping deeper into the gutter and making a home there, it seems.

Was if physically possible, Gaius would now have grown horns, red eyes and have steam coming out of his ears (with magic that could actually be possible, you know, but since it's a no-no in Camelot, Gaius refrains from using it).

"None of  _that_  either!"

()()()

It's a desolate warlock who enters the physician's chamber eighteen minutes later. It'd taken quite a lot of shouting, complaining, shoving off hands and locking of doors to get here (Gaius had been annoyed to find Arthur could get out of the antechamber, into which he'd been forced lest Merlin never would've been able to get dressed, in less than 30 seconds. It'd taken  _five_  tries to get him in there).

"It's unfair, Gaius!" Merlin protests. "I  _want_  to be with Arthur!

"Yes, perhaps, but do you know what you're committing yourself to? I've not checked yet if Arthur is compatible enough for you, nor given him approval! Young people," Gaius says, adding in a mutter; "Always in a hurry, not knowing their own good. Did the dragon have a part in this? Did he?" he demands to know.

"Oh  _god_ ," the warlock groans, hiding his face in his hands. "You know about the dragon?"

"Of course! I'm not an idiot. What's he told you?"

"That Arthur and I are two sides of the same coin and 'the sun and the moon' and lots of other similar things, mostly just gibberish," Merlin says, waving his hands around in vigorous gestures. "

Gaius' face is very grave, eyes darkened with seriousness. "The dragon said that – about the coins? Two sides of the same coin?  _Exactly_  that?"

"Yes! Can't I go back to Arthur now?  _Please_?"

The physician leans over the table, asking in a rapid pace: "Did he mention grandchildren? A big white wedding? Exchanging of vows? Anything of the sort?"

Merlin wrinkles up his nose in confusion. "Err… no … But he said something about uniting Albion together and stuff, no big deal." Honestly! He's just a guy in love wanting to get laid and Arthur is on the same wavelength so he can't see why Gaius is so terribly upset. It's not like he's going to leave or get drunk with Gwaine or anything. Desperate he adds; "But Gaius, I _want_  it! I don't care about the prophecies or anything, I just  _want him_! I –" Here he blushes rapidly, a dark deep hue: " – I, I think I'm in love with him."

 _"Uniting Albion_!" Gaius exclaims, standing up. " _Together_! I've got to have a serious word with him. Do not  _dare_  move a muscle, Merlin, or do any magic, I'm warning you."

Luckily, when being so frustrated, the physician is very wrapped up in his anger (at the prince, the dragon, and destiny and at everyone really) he doesn't notice his ward's golden eyes or how something is carefully slipped from his pocket, across the table and quickly diving beneath the warlock's tunic for cover. Merlin attempts to look as miserable and innocent as possible. Gaius leaves the chamber glancing back warningly one last time:

"If anything happens while I'm gone-"

Merlin almost can't stop himself from tapping a foot. "Nothing will. Nothing! What could possibly happen?"

Honestly, he doesn't deserve receiving the Dangerous Eyebrow Look  _again._

()()()

The dark cave lights up by a single torch held high. An angry, incredulous voice echoes between the stone walls:

"What's all this about coins and prophecies and uniting Albion?"

Kilgarrah regards him like he'd grown a second head. "Are you slow, old man? Emrys and the Once and Future King shall rule this kingdom and make it a bright place, bringing the harmony of magic back."

"What else, then? What else have you Seen but not told my reckless ward?"

The dragon looks pleased and smug. "Wouldn't you want to know…"

"I  _demand_  you to tell me!" Gaius shouts.

"Weeell," Kilgarrah says with glinting eyes and rests his chin in his giant paw. "If given this information, what would you do with it? Oh, do not bother answering, old man: I know you. You'll do what you can to slow these events out of fear for the young warlock's safety, then out of fear for your own, and finally, out of fear of the shock the kingdom might suffer from the change coming in the heels of these events. But, let me tell you something. You may try all you might, but the Once and Future King and the Young Warlock have more tricks up their sleeves than you can possibly be prepared for."

"Tell me something new."

The dragon inspects his claws, glancing at the physician nonchalantly. "What's your price?"

Gaius is taken aback: "Price?"

"Yes," Kilgarrah confirms. "You truly believe I'm going to tell you and be given nothing in return?"

"What about …" Gaius thinks hard, very hard, to come up with something. He draws many blanks. What could the dragon possibly be interested in having? Hm. Suddenly, he's hit by a brilliant idea. "What about a brand-new pot?"

()()()

"Wow, a new record," Merlin says as Arthur, three minutes and fifteen locks later, enters the physician's chambers, quite forcibly since he's getting tired of all these bloody locks. Where the physician has gotten his hands on all those bloody locks to put them on his door and other annoying places, Merlin isn't sure he wants to know.

The point is, Arthur got his telepathic message (it's good to be a warlock) and hurried here as fast as his feet could carry him, just after the physician's left. And Merlin knows the dragon: it'll talk riddles and gibberish and mention coins at least twelve times – it'll keep Gaius busy for a  _long_  while.

"Yup," the prince says, "Of course. I'm awesome."

"Yes, yes, whatever. Come on! Before Gaius comes back!"

"You've got it?" Arthur asks, removing his shirt as he walks over to where the warlock is standing, in the doorway to his own room.

Grinning smugly, Merlin pulls something out from under his tunic, wrapping the string attached to the item around his finger and doing his most flirtatious pose. He's already timely pulled off his boots and loosened his neckerchief, keenly waiting for the prince to arrive. Now, he makes a show of remove the brilliantly red piece of cloth all the way, dropping it on the floor, making a come-hither motion with his free hand. "We haven't got all day,  _Arthur_  …" he purrs.

"Oh,  _Merlin_ -" Arthur gasps turned on  _so much_  and practically jumps on the equally excited warlock.

()()()

"What colour?"

"Brown, red or blue. Your pick."

A difficult choice. A truly difficult choice. The dragon taps a claw against the stone. "Hmm."

"Two then! I'll give you two. Just  _tell me_  already!"

"Is it a human trait to be so impatient?" Kilgarrah wonders aloud.

"For heaven's sake," mutters Gaius. "All three of them then!"

"Brown, red  _and_  blue?"

A tired sigh. "Yes."

"Right, you've got a deal, old man!" The dragon looks very pleased. "Now: here's the thing, I might have exaggerated a thing or two on the Merlin/Arthur front, not  _completely_  of course, but slightly - but, you must admit they look  _fabulous_  together." He's cut off by a pointed ahem ahem – Gaius is furious, to think he's lost three of his best pots for this! – and the dragon clears his throat: "Right, so you want to know whether your ward is going to have a happily ever after and if you'll have any grandchildren to bounce on your knee someday. Let me tell you …"

()()()

The physician returns to his chambers three quarters of an hour later, not pleased with how many riddles the dragon has left him to solve. Granted, he's quick, so he can probably have made sense of them within a couple of days, but then he also has to decide whether he'll accept Arthur's advances on his ward, and the more time he'll have to make Merlin wear the belt, the grumpier his ward will get.

His room is oddly ... silent. Suspiciously silent. Merlin is sitting by the table, right where he'd left him.

Gaius regards his ward with sharp narrowed eyes, taking in the slight change in the young man's breath, hair (which is slightly rumpled) and clothing. "Did  _anything_  happen while I was gone?"

"N-no, nothing!" Merlin quickly assures him and hurries to get busy with grinding some greenish paste in a nearby bowl, to avert his mentor's attention. He's taken extra care in covering his neck to hide any eventual love bites, but his shirt  _might_  be inside out. "I've just been making this powder, see? For, err, a…uhm, medicine. For, uhm. Aching. Teeth …?"

"Oh,  _really_? I never thought you to be overly interested in becoming a physician. Well, if you're so keen on it, we could start serious lessons: I could well use a knowledgably assistant. You seem to have an overdose of spare time anyway –"

" **No**!"

"No?" asks Gaius, eyebrow hinting to be raised.

"… I, I'm busy, I've got to – polish Arthur's armour!"

"I think not. You did that earlier today; I see no point in doing in twice. Now, first," the physician says and puts a large heavy dusty book on the table. "It'd be easiest if we begin with the basics of the human anatomy …"

Merlin's forehead soundly connects with the table.

()()()

Meanwhile, not far off, beneath a thick safe pile of blankets, two wrists have been attached to the bedpost with a red piece of cloth. And a somewhat urgent voice is whispering: "Psst! Merlin? You there? … Hey, can you hear me? Merlin! … Shit, Gaius has stolen you hasn't he? Fuck ... Now I'm stuck here."

Has he mentioned that Merlin is an expert on tricky knots?

()()()

If Merlin wakes extra early the following morning and enchants a broom to do the hula as a distracting factor while smuggling a certain, slightly disheveled prince out his chamber, well, that's nothing but pure convenience.


	32. Use Magic on Arthur to Make Him a Simpleton

It's quite strange. One moment they're in the castle, surrounded by enemies and fire and a mad hell-bent-on-revenge sorceress; Arthur's heart stinging with both his sister's and his uncle's betrayal, even if he knew it would come to this. But their force is stronger than he'd expected.

Then, they're out … here. Everything is quite hazy. The forest is okay and nice as long as Merlin says so and then Merlin says "We'll leave for Ealdor, the knights and the people who've managed to escape will meet us there."

Arthur nods: "Of course, of course," because of course he'll agree when Merlin wants it that way, when it seems to relieve the manservant – anything to make Merlin happy.

With a grin on his face, Arthur cheerfully follows the servant through the woods. Eventually they stumble on an old abandoned cottage where they find some new clothes. It's good for a disguise – very nice, Merlin assures him and smiles – so Arthur goes along with it even if the stuff is a bit on the tight side, and he's never thought this shade of brown to suit him well, but if Merlin says it's good then it must be true.

He's a bit disappointed when Merlin won't let him carry him (since they're lacking horses and he doesn't want his beloved to get aching feet) but the servant assures him it's fine, and then it is fine and Arthur continues to walk through the field of daisies (picking some for Merlin on the way, the servant can hardly object to such a sweet gesture, can he?) and onwards, down a valley: Hm, maybe he should have picked some for Hunith too?

Merlin, for some reason, urges him to hurry. They have to hasten and get far away before they're found by Agravaine's search party (There's a party? Then why aren't they going there, aren't they invited? Arthur wonders, although Merlin's description makes his uncle Agravaine sounds kind of nasty and he'd never put his beloved into danger by being near nasty men like that, be they strangers or uncles).

When evening starts creeping over the forest, they stumble on a group of less nasty men (in Arthur's opinion) although that blonde one isn't very nice, throwing knives and all, but Merlin nudges his side urging him to be quiet and polite and let Merlin handle this, so of course Arthur grins like a fool and tells the man with the knife that he's got quite a technique and seems nice and all, but Arthur  _will_  gut him if that knife gets anywhere near Merlin again. Then he gives Merlin the daisy bouquet, like making a point or something that he likes Merlin, who smiles uncertainly back at him.

The man looks at them oddly. "Was it something I said?" Arthur wonders out loud, befuddled.

The servant shakes his head desperately, "Let me do the talking!" he hisses into Arthur's ear, and then turns to the man with the knife saying something about "Hey we mean no harm, can we get a ride please, we'll behave," or something, it's all hazy again and, anyway, Arthur is happy when he spots a butterfly land in a nearby bush and turns to look at it more closely, and when Merlin introduces him to the travelling group as 'simpleton' it must be a compliment since it comes from Merlin.

So the day turns into night. For some reason, Merlin tells him to "Stay right here" while pointing at the ground right in front a tree. So Arthur does. Soon though he feels tired and leans against the tree and somewhere along the line, he falls asleep with a happy smile on his face.

()()()

Arthur wakes up with his arms wrapped around a tree.

Utterly confused, he stares into the bark. Why on earth are his arms wrapped around a  _tree_?

Next, the noise: bustling from people and carriages and weaponry. A camp. Then he senses the rough fabric against his skin, not at all the familiar weight of a chainmail and he glances down, quickly growing horrified. He's in the middle of a forest, in a camp of total strangers, dressed like a bloody _idiot_  and  _hugging a tree_!

He glares around, but no one takes notice of him. Not a second glance. Like they're used to having the great King of Camelot dressed like a peasant with a pea of a brain hugging trees in their midst. What craziness is this?

Then his eyes fall on a figure wrapped up in a blanket not too far off, peacefully asleep.

With determination gleaming in his eyes, and severely missing his sword, the King marches over to where the manservant lies, grabs the boy's shoulders and starts shaking him, growling angrily: " _Mer_ lin! What the  _hell_  is this?"

"Ugh," the boy groans, tired and confused. "Whaa…Arthur?"

"Yes! Where are we and what the hell is going on and  _why the fuck_  am I dressed in this  _ridiculous_  clothing!"

"Oh, uhm, err…you see you were wounded in the attack and kind of, how do I put it, confused because Gaius' medicine," Merlin says quickly, too quickly, with flickering eyes and a nervous smile and Arthur is certain that this is a lie. "And we had to get out of Camelot safely and the safest way to do that was to give you a waterproof disguise! You and I are on our way to Ealdor, where Leon and the others will meet us. We ran into these guys who were happy to give us a lift … well not  _that_  happy but, you know, they don't think we'll do any harm to their business and didn't simply had us shot or something-"

"Business?"

"They're, um, they're smugglers," Merlin admits nervously and Arthur bangs his head into the nearest flat surface.

"This just keeps getting better and better doesn't it. First Agravaine and Morgana take over my city, and now I'm travelling with an idiot and a pack of smugglers. What should I expect next, pink glittering pixies coming to our rescue, riding on unicorns and waving little flags?" Arthur mutters sarcastically.

"Err … no …" Merlin says slowly, looking at the King as if he'd hit his head. (Because even if there might be pixies out there, there's no logical reason for them to appear out of sudden and help tow distraught humans in the middle of a forest from a bunch of bad guys.)

"What  _exactly_  have you told these guys about me?" the King demands to know.

Merlin doesn't get the chance to answer because at that moment, a man approaches the pair – one which Arthur faintly recognizes from his wobbly hazy memories from earlier – and gives Merlin a pointed look which is probably meant to mean something, then says: "We're packing up and will leave within the hour. Explain it to the simpleton, will you."

The man leaves Merlin shrinking beneath the King's heated glare.

"I-it was the easiest way!" Merlin squeaks.

"By telling them I'm a simpleton? You really have no brains, do you, Merlin," growls Arthur. "Did you get me drunk or something to emphasis that I'm stupid,  _which I'm not,_  or was it just a fun joke popping into your mind when we walked through that field of daisies? … Daisies. Oh my  _god_ ," the King gasps in horror as realization overcomes him: "I've picked daisies and hugged trees and chased butterflies like, like a  _simpleton_!"

"Err. Uhm. Yes, I tried to make you stop, but then you just pouted a lot so I thought I could just make you happy and let you do what you wanted," Merlin babbles nervously and whines: "I can't really say 'no' when you pout like that, can I? You're just so  _cute_  then and - well, I  _did_  protest once or twice, that time you wanted to carry me like some damsel, when you  _finally_  understood that we're followed by your evil uncle who wants to shred us to pieces, but that's all –"

"Agravaine's picked up our trail?" Arthur asks sharply, cutting through his manservant's words.

The King is reluctant to admit it but Merlin is quite endearing, but, as said, he's also very furious at his manservant who has somehow managed to get them in stuck in this situation. _Smugglers_ , of all stupid things in the world! Has the bloody idiot  _no idea_  how dangerous and devious smugglers are? They could have been gutted and left for dead in the middle of night or separated, kidnapped, or something else equally disturbing! Stupid, stupid manservant! He should be punished for his incompetence. Yes, as soon as they reach Ealdor – now how they're going to do that is another story – Arthur's going to have him locked in the stocks. There has to be stocks in Ealdor, right?

Merlin shakes his head rapidly at the King's question regarding the Very Evil Uncle. "No. I don't think so. I think we've fooled them … this far, at least."

"One good thing at least," the King mutters. "Now what had you planned, huh? We'd come along the smugglers for as long they accepted our presence?"

"They're headed for the boarder, and with them we're protected; Agravaine and Morgana aren't looking for a group of smugglers, they're looking for the two of us plus a knight or two sneaking through the woods."

Okay, maybe Merlin isn't  _utterly_  stupid. Hiding amongst a big group of people is a smart idea. IF YOU DON'T TURN THE KING INTO A SIMPLETON FIRST, that is. Only god knows how Merlin managed that. Probably some silly spell that got out of hand. Or one of Gaius' less reliable potions, because the physician could clearly have a hand in this; he sometimes finds 'wisdom' in Merlin's crazy plans (and this plan has clearly been devised by none other). "We should tag along until we reach the boarder," Merlin continues, "right?"

 _At last_ , the servant actually asks his King for permission. "Yes, now it's too late to turn around. But where the hell are my clothes, armour and my sword?"

"Err, I've kept it all, it's in one of the wagons in a pack but wouldn't it be best if you kept … dressed like that? The smugglers still thinks you're, uhm, a simpleton."

"Thank you Merlin, I hadn't quite noticed," retorted Arthur sarcastically and held out his hand. "Armour. Sword.  _Now_."

()()()

Which is why the smugglers ( _and damn it, has Merlin no sense of self-preservation whatsoever!_ Arthur rages mentally;  _travelling with smugglers! The stupid, stupid idiot! It's a wonder he still got a head on his shoulders!)_ greets the pair with amused glances half an hour later.

"That piece of armour looks quite fine for a simpleton - who can't wield a sword," Tristan remarked as the pair joined the moving caravan half an hour later.

"I'm good with a sword! The finest swordsman you could ever find!" Arthur protests. Loudly.

"Err, yeah," Merlin cuts in awkwardly, ears red, "I helped him get it, because you know, he … likes shiny … stuff. Uhm. He wouldn't get around without me." He ends with some nervous laughter, and Arthur shoots him a glare.

"I can take care of myself just fine!"

This time Merlin can't fake it, and rolls his eyes. "Yes, I know. Polishing your own boots and everything."

The glaring intensifies.

"Why are you travelling with him, anyway?" asks Isolde, whom Arthur has figured out to be Tristan's lover, after some careful observations. He's never heard of women smugglers before, so he assumes her to be quite dangerous (as women can be – like Morgana, or the old Morgana before she killed Uther and claimed Camelot for herself, when she's angry). The thought of his sister makes him quiet and serious, and Merlin notices.

"Well, someone's got to take care of him," the servant says and reaches out to ruffle Arthur's hair.

The King grins in way he hopes isn't too obviously fake, and at the same time not too stupid, just … the grin of a fool. He can't believe that he's agreed to continue to play a simpleton. It's not fair play when Merlin makes hurt-innocent-doe-eyes on him! Okay, it's kind of nice to have his hair ruffled. Merlin's got very nice hands. Very nice especially when they're anywhere on Arthur's body.

…  _No, don't let your thought go there_ , Arthur reminds himself and straightens up.  _Even if Merlin's hands are nice. Very nice. But no! Not there. Not there …!_

When the King shrugs off the touch and walks off head held high, Merlin stares after him confused.

Isolde pats the servant's arm with a sympathetic smile. "He'll come around, you see. I'm sure he's very nice and – good with a sword," she says giving him a pointed look, not unkind but still  _pointed_  and, well, the words aren't what Merlin wants to hear right now. Right now Isolde reminds him of a weird mix between Gaius' Eyebrow Moments and Gwen's Gentle Understanding.

"Err, yeah. Of course." He inches backwards as fast as he dares, in the King's general direction. "But now I. Uhm. Got to go and find him."

"Of course." Isolde smiles. "Just don't fall behind."

 _Gosh_ , Merlin thinks with a shudder of fear;  _women are_ _ **creepy**_ _sometimes._


	33. Get Split Into Different People

Merlin awakes to bright sunlight falling through the window and landing square on his face. However, for some reason, this doesn't bother him. In fact he's just filled to the brim with jolly happy energy and jumps out of bed, hastily throws a bright red neckerchief around his neck and dashes out of the room. Oh, he can't wait to face the day! It's going to be so nice and good and fun!

He smiles broadly at Gaius when he dashes past him (grabbing an apple from the table on the way), despite the man's curious raised eyebrow. "Morning! I'm off to serve Arthur now, so I'll see you later Gaius!" he says happily, eager to get going and wake Arthur and start his duties.

"Good morning, Merlin. I wondered if you could-"

"Sorry, but I'm in a hurry, I've a prat waiting and swords to polish and all that! See you later!"

And the warlock waves at the physician and skips out of the door, whistling a merry tune while taking the occasional chew off the apple. What a nice apple! It's be best he's ever tasted. It makes him feel so good, so full of ... energy! He can't remember when he last had such a good happy day. The sun's shining, he's off to meet Arthur, and dress him and polish his sword – oh, he can't wait! It's going to be so  _fun_!

()()()

Hm, his ward is behaving  _very_  oddly today, Gaius observes. Usually he's not a morning person. This must be the first time in two weeks he's even woken on time, not to mention early. Maybe he's had a change of heart or just some very good sleep? Either way, Merlin runs off before Gaius has the chance to ask, apparently very eager to serve.

Very well. A good attitude can never hurt, can it? At least the prince will for once  _not_  complain about his servant's tardiness and Gaius is only glad about that.

Thus not especially worried, Gaius starts his morning duties; preparing a salve for Lady Grete who always complains about her itchy skin, sorting through and re-labeling bottles, writing some notes for his Annals On Medicine and other important things that old physicians do.

It's not until about an hour later, when a  **second**  Merlin emerges from his ward's bedroom that Gaius gets ...  _suspicious._

()()()

Merlin blinks up at the ceiling and immediately his heart starts fluttering at a nervous pace. The sun is up,  _far_  too much up, and he's not up which means – he's late. Oh no! What's he going to do? If he's late (again) Arthur -  _and_  Gaius - will kill him! They'll have his head on a stake! Oh  _no_! Should he hide? In the cupboard maybe? Under the bed? But Gaius might come and search for him if he doesn't appear. And then, and then – no, Gaius wouldn't do that. Would he? What if he does anyway! He has to get to Arthur somehow without Gaius noticing he's late!

Then his only choice is to…

At the thought Merlin swallows hard, trying to will away the fear to no avail. He'll have to  _sneak_  out, past Gaius' watchful eyes and dangerous eyebrows, through those frighteningly large hallways, past the guards...or should he just walk past the guards like usual? What if they think he's sneaking and think he's stolen something or us up to mischief? Oh no, then he'd get caught! But if he waits, then he'll be late. He has to go...he  _has_  to, there's no other choice.

Hands trembling he ties a dark blue neckerchief around his neck as tight as possible but his hands almost do not obey, and it takes a while to get his clothes in order and each minute that passes makes him even  _more_  nervous. "Oh god, the prince will have my head, oh no, _oh no_ ," Merlin gasps as he can't find his shoes. His shoes!  _Gone_!

Eventually he manages to locate them under the bed and puts them on, and then proceed to  _sneak_  out. Which doesn't go…that well but Gaius manages to grab him before he has a chance to flee and hide in the cupboard.

"When did you get back?" Gaius asks suspiciously, staring at his ward very intensely making Merlin squirm and flush and wanting to crawl back into his room and hide forever.

"I, err, I wasn't, umm, sorry-"

"There's no need to apologize, just explain to me. I never saw you walk back." The physician's eyes narrows. "Did you use  _magic_? I've told you to be careful!"

"No! No! I d-didn't!" Merlin stutters, horrified now –  _Gaius_   _mentioned m-magic! In the middle of day when anyone could walk in! Is he crazy_? - waving his hands and then immediately retracting them as he realizes he's holding them out in front of him and he doesn't like having any body parts … spread out like that, making him vulnerable. "I  _swear!_  I just l-left, I. I." His voice is trembling and he's on the verge of tears and helplessly buries his face in his neckerchief. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

The old man sighs. "Merlin, just – don't do it again."

"I promise," he says shakily, not completely comprehending  _what_  it is that he's not supposed to do again. For a minute he just stands there, red in the face and silent and pressed against the wall like a deer caught in the headlines.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Gaius cries. "Arthur won't like it if you're late."

The prince! Oh god, he'd almost  _forgot_! Terrified that he's managed to forget and thus get ever tardier and even more likely to get skewered on an angry prince's sword-point, Merlin rushes out of the room, toward the kitchens. He better bring the prince breakfast. With lots of apples and sausages and wine and other stuff Arthur likes…he really hopes Arthur won't be angry…

()()()

Oh, this day is going to suck so darn  _hard._  He can feel it the moment he wakes. Yeah, today won't be a good day. He's in the mood of going to the tavern and get ass drunk and get into some pointless bar fight involving lots of fists. If not finding a bar fight then he'll simply just take out his anger on a passing-by servant or one of those stupid guards who couldn't even guard a key if it was laying in their pocket;  _ha_! They're so easy to trick, it's laughable. Not that Merlin would laugh. It'd be stupid, and when everything sucks why the hell would he laugh anyway.

He glances down at his clothes, annoyed at their bright blue and red tones and with a wave of the hand he lets magic do the work, changing the garments into much more fitting tones of midnight black, before walking out of the room to fetch that arrogant, idiotic cabbagehead's breakfast.

()()()

A  _third_  Merlin emerges from the bedroom adjourning the physician's chambers and now Gaius is starting to get frustrated, really.

" **Merlin**!" the physician shouts angrily. "I thought I told you, no more of that! When will you ever be  _careful_?"

Merlin snorts. "What the fuck do I care about what you say, old man."

"Watch your language! Where did you come from, anyway? You just walked out of the door."

"No, I didn't," bristles Merlin back at the physician, crossing his arms across his chest; his face is darkened, with a glare deeper and angrier than what Gaius ever before has seen. His way of dress is different, Gaius notices, he's sure Merlin's trousers has never had that large rip across the knee. Or been black either, come think about it.  _All_  of Merlin's clothes are a shade of black or dark grey all of a sudden. Very odd indeed. "Are you fucking blind, stupid old man?" continues Merlin in a heated rant. "Leave me the fuck alone or I'll-"

Just then the door opens and out saunters a neckerchief-free, open-jacketed (with  _nothing_  underneath!) Merlin with a predatory grin on his face. He stops on the lowest step of the tiny stair, eyeing Angry Merlin intensely and sounding a low whistle in appreciation.

"Well hellothere ..."

"Oh my," gasps Gaius. What has his ward done  _now_?

The new Merlin looks at the old man like bemused, then proceeds to ignore him completely and walks over to his twin or magical projection, or whatever the other Merlin is, and leans against him, straight into his personal space. It seems as if that's a sense this version of Merlin is lacking.

"Well, aren't you handsome," the fourth Merlin  _purrs_  and with a grin leans in further, trailing a finger down Angry Merlin's chest in a manner that makes both Angry Merlin and Gaius splutter (for different reasons). " _Extremely_ , actually…. I wouldn't mind finding an alcove for the both of us..."

Very Angry Merlin glares at with the strength of a hundred dragons, fire in his eyes. "Get the fuck  _off of_   _me_!"

"Have I missed anything?"

Gaius swirls around, aghast. "Oh god  **no**. Not  _another one_!"

"So … I haven't … or … have I?"

"I say you have. I mean, I'm always right," intones another voice haughtily.

Gaius thinks his day has just turned a lot worse.

()()()

The bed curtains are ripped open nearly violently accompanied by a happy sing-song voice. "Morning, sire! Look, it's such a bright day! Rise and shine, lazy daisy! Up and at 'em!"

Arthur glares up at his too-happy manservant, blinking when greeted by the sight of a row of very white teeth and a bright red neckerchief. "You're very  _jolly_  today, Merlin. Has anything in particular happened?"

Merlin is more or less jumping on the spot, like a child about to by sweets on the market. "It's a wonderful day! I'm so, so excited, like  _bubbling_   _over_! The sun's bright, there's not a cloud in the sky and I'm going to polish your armour!" He claps his hands excitedly.

Arthur looks at the servant oddly. "Have you hit your head?" Then, with a threatening edge to the tone (he'll beat Gwaine into a pulp if he's dragged Merlin to the tavern…again), the prince asks, "You haven't been at the cider have you?"

"No, of course not, why?" the servant asks and smiles wide, looking at him and then he starts whistling. Bloody  _whistling_. Deciding it's far too early for this craziness Arthur falls back onto the bed with a groan and covers his ears with a pillow. It doesn't help much to muffle the sound though. He's got to find some better, thicker, more sound-proof pillows if this goes on.

"Just, quit that endless chattering and that bloody  _whistling_! And fetch me breakfast," he grunts out.

"No problem, Arthur!"

Really, if not for those stupid ears, Arthur would've to fired Merlin long ago and found another servant without delay. Someone who not just once or twice but  _always_ is on time, someone who knows about respect and self-preservation and isn't so stupid … Someone who doesn't  _whistle_.

Continuing his merry tune Merlin is out of the door and with a sigh, Arthur pulls himself out of bed. He usually does it like this; Merlin's always been so shy and whatnot and they've both realized the most comfortable way is for the prince to dress himself (at least until he's half-decent) while the servant is off fetching food and then Merlin would just help him into his jacket and cloak or armour later. So he changes into a pair of freshly laundered trousers and a plain shirt and reaches for his sword-belt to clasp around his waist, pondering his servant's behaviour. (Don't tell anyone but Arthur does this quite often, thinking about his servant that is (in ways he maybe shouldn't) two or three times a day, but let's be quiet about that, okay, it's a bit embarrassing.)

 _Maybe Merlin really has hit his head,_  Arthur muses and then shrugs it off. Merlin is like that sometimes – unpredictable and odd. He shouldn't be that surprised, really.

"S-sorry I'm late, sire."

The voice is so quiet and timid that the prince just barely hears it and it takes a second for him to react. Instinct takes over: Arthur grabs his sword and whirls around on his heel, to face-

" **Mer** lin!" he cries, angrily. "Don't startle me like that - I could have cut your head off, you idiot!"

Merlin just stands there, red in the face and eyes darting and knuckles white as he clenches to the filled-to-the-brim-plate (mm, smells like bacon), like uncertain of what to do and what to say. It's quite out of character - especially considering the mood he was in five minutes ago. Merlin is many things, true, but he's not hesitant.

But, after a quick mental calculation of the time, Arthur's eyes narrows and at this Merlin tenses even more, like he's a hare trapped in a corner and Arthur is the hunter armed with a dangerous crossbow. "Hang on…how did you get here so fast? The kitchens aren't  _that_  close. Going there and back takes you usually four times that long."

"I, I fetched breakfast first. Before. I mean," Merlin stutters and nearly falls backwards, "before c-coming. Coming here. Sire."

"You've already been here, you woke me."

"…N-no, I didn't, I would have but then I was late so I couldn't," says the servant in a breathy trembling voice and as if a dam has burst, words tumble out of mouth at a quick pace. "But I didn't mean to sire, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry-"

The prince stares at the servant who is near hyperventilating now.  _Oh god is he going to cry? … No, no, don't cry, don't cry!_  He steps forward, raising a hand in a hopefully calming manner and says as firmly but gently as possible ( _Why is Merlin so ... hysterical all of a sudden?_ ) "Calm down, you …"

An insult rests on his tongue, but seeing Merlin's glistening eyes, something in his chest stings at the thought of calling him names and Arthur finds himself just standing in front of his servant awkwardly not knowing what to do or say.

"Err," he says eventually, seeing his servant still hasn't moved and still is on the verge of hyperventilating. "Why don't you just … sit down for a moment … all right?"

"I-I shouldn't!" Merlin cries. "I can't! Y-you're the prince and, and I'm just a servant and –"

" **Mer** lin. What is up with you today? One moment you're all jolly and happy and the next you're all meek and-"

 _"Breakfast incoming!"_ a joyful shout echoes across the room and an apple hits him between his eyes before his usually sharp reflexes warns him of the projectile so he can catch it.

As a later note, Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot, did absolutely  _not_  faint at the sight of another Merlin, with a huge smile on his face entering his chamber with a loaded tray, glancing at worried/scared/maybe hysterical Merlin and happily proclaiming: "What's with the long faces? Cheer up! It's such a beautiful day, it's perfect!"

It was just a very manly, understandable reaction to a sudden shock. That's all.

Before the world goes black Arthur thinks he hears his idiot manservant mutter; "Oops. I didn't mean it to happen like that."

()()()

"…Sire? Can you hear me?"

Arthur thinks he knows that voice. Yeah. Oh. He groans. It's Gaius. That means…he's probably...Oh no. It wasn't some weird bad dream. It was  _real_.

"Look, he's coming to!"

"Do you think he'll be all right? He'll be, won't he? Won't he?"

"Ask someone who fucking  _cares_."

"Back off a little. Give him some space," Gaius mutters and apparently shoos off whoever are standing around (they all sound eerily familiar), because when they continue talking they're further away, like across a room. It's not that much a difference but enough for Arthur to dare open his eyes.

"Oh don't be so angry and frustrated all the time!" He can recognize that tone. It sounds like overly jolly Merlin this morning. "You're such a killjoy. Don't be! Cheer up! See life on the bright side!"

"If you don't  _shut up_  I'll  _kick_  your fucking jaw in," threatens a very cold, very angry Merlin-voice.

"That's not very nice," chides the other Merlin-voice in a merry tone.

"Who are all you people and why do you look like me? What's going on?" another confused voice ask and the prince thinks it's time to interfere now before  _he_  becomes insane.

"Yeah," Arthur agrees and pulls himself up to his elbows. "What's going on?" He glances to his right, finding Gaius sitting on a chair next to his bed. So he's still in his chambers then.

And there are five different Merlins hanging around the room; one is off sulking in a corner, glaring darkly at the chandelier in a manner which Arthur fears will sever its chain and send it crashing to the floor. He's dressed almost completely in black, a colour he's practically  _never_  before seen Merlin wear. Another, with red puffy eyes, is worriedly sitting by the bedside wringing his hands; a third jumping on the spot back while commenting the lovely day and how happy everyone should be. Oh, it's that happy Merlin that woke him up. The fourth is lounging around looking and acting generally clueless (constantly repeating questions like "What am I  _doing_  here?" and "You guys look familiar. Have I met you before?"). The last is acting arrogant, certain and all-knowing and is currently trying to argument with (and winning against) the Happy one: he must be representing Merlin's stubbornness.

"Gaius?" Arthur demands, unable to tear his eyes away from the unlikely scene. "What is …  **this**?"

"I am not certain myself but there's definitely magic involved. I can't seem to locate Merlin – well, the  _original_ Merlin – only copies with extreme personalities: anger, happiness, anxiousness and so on." The physician looks tired. "I fear that more of them can appear in the castle during random times and if that happens, or already  _has_  happened…"

"Oh  _no_."

"My thoughts exactly."

Momentarily Arthur drags his gaze away from the manservants. (It makes him kind of uneasy, not keeping a constant eye on them; what if one of the idiots trips and breaks something? Not that he's  _worried,_  or anything. He just doesn't want a group of  _injured_  Merlin  **in addition**  to already having a  _group_  of Merlins.)

"So how many have you found?"

"Five this far. The last one I had to leave behind in my chambers, locking the door. I feared how he'd …  _react_  in the presence of other people, because, well." Gaius coughs behind a hand and Arthur raises an eyebrow. "His behaviour is rather forward and not always, err, welcome."

"What do you mean?" Arthur wonders curiously.

"He'd seemed to take an, err, fine liking to both the third and the fourth Merlin and they didn't, err, respond very well to his approaches."

"Fine liking - approaches? You mean, he's ... Oh.  _Oh_." Arthur has to swallow harshly and struggled to keep control of a sudden rush of blood to unwelcome places at this moment at the thought of several Merlins involved like that. With each other. Oh. Now his brain would be flooded with distracting images for the rest of the year.

"Anyway," Arthur says a bit too quickly, "is there any way to fix this?"

"I'll do some research," Gaius promises and stands. "Will you keep an eye on them for time being?"

The prince heaves himself out of bed and nods dutifully. "Of course. I think I'll need  _both_  of my eyes. Isn't is best if you send up that last one so we have all gathered in one place?" he adds, because even if this fifth Merlin sounds like either he'll just tell people he generally likes them or feel them up, Arthur won't mind that much having him here. Really. And it's _not_  because he's got nothing against having two or more Merlins around, doing … wicked things. Really.

The physician hesitates for a moment before agreeing that yes, it's probably for the best, and then he hurries back to his room. Arthur closes the door behind him tightly. He's glad that no guard or other person has passed by and seen this chaos yet. His father wouldn't react well at having several Merlins running around, no matter how harmless.

"Are you all right?" Merlin, apparently the nervous and worried one, asks the prince shyly and being looked at by the prince sends his heart into his throat and he starts to babble white worrying his bottom lip. "Are you hurt? You're not hurt are you? Y-you almost hit your head but Merlin, that other one, with the red neckerchief, caught you and…You're not hurt are you?"

"No, I'm fine…Merlin. Don't worry." Arthur adds that last bit sensing that if he doesn't Worried Merlin might burst into tears and he  _definitely_  doesn't want that. He gestures at the others occupying the room. "Why don't you spend some time with the other … Merlins? Get to know them?"

Worried Merlin looks hesitant. "I-I don't want to, they're … they're  _scary_ ," he whispers, "at least that one in black and, and that other one who's not here now because Gaius took him away, but before he kept looking at me and, and t-touching my bum."

The prince opens and closes his mouth unable to come up with a good response at that, throat dry.  _Oh god I wish I'd been able to see_ _that..._

"C-can I stay with you? ... I mean  _here_. I mean not  _with_  you, always, or well I'd like to be with … with  _you_ , not alone with  _them_ ," Worried Merlin asks nervously and glances up at the prince through long dark eyelashes, his cheeks a lovely hue of pink, and Arthur has to force himself to blink and look away to be able to  _think_.

"Err ... sure."

Worried Merlin blushes a brilliant shade of red and Angry Merlin, who's overheard the conversation, waves his hand and promptly pushes Worried Merlin off the bed with magic, eyes glowing a dark gold, making him land on the stone floor with a heavy thud and a panicked cry.

Great. So any of these Merlins might use magic at random moments too.

"You're such a  _weakling_ ," the angry, black-clad Merlin growls, scowling at his counterpart on the ground who stares back up at him while wailing softly, rubbing at his eyes. "Weak and scared and  _pathetic_."

Arthur leaps up to stand between them, hands out, before anyone gets seriously hurt. "Hey! Hey! Cut that out!" If this starts a fight he's not sure exactly how to stop it. Just managing one Merlin at the time can be a handful, and  _four_  of them? He's got a feeling that by the end of the day he'll probably collapse with exhaustion.

Maybe he'll find it's all been a weird dream.

"Yes, we should all be friends! The best of friends! I like you all guys, you're awesome - which means  _I'm_  awesome! And since you're me it all makes sense!" Happy Merlin happily proclaims and proceeds to hug everyone present. Evidently Angry Merlin doesn't like that, and Stubborn Merlin stubbornly claims he doesn't need any hugs because he's, well, stubborn like that but Worried Merlin buries his face in the cheerful one's neck, seeking comfort and cover.

Admittedly, Arthur is a bit ... distracted by watching the Merlins' embrace. (It's completely legit.)

"Why would we be best friends?" asks Confused Merlin confusedly in the background. "Have I met you guys before somewhere? I think I kind of recognize you lot … kind of … somehow …"

The prince turns to the livid version of the servant, glaring him down with all force he can muster. "You, apologize to him.  _Now_ ," Arthur orders, pointing a thumb at Worried Merlin.

The servant just snorts, "As if. Fuck you."

"Th-that's mean," murmurs the scared version, and hides in Happy Merlin's arms again with a squeak when Angry Merlin sends him a poisonous look.

"Come on guys!" Happy Merlin says cheerful as ever. "Why fight? It's a wonderful day!"

" _You_ —" growls Angry Merlin and raises a fist.

Arthur really hopes there are no other Merlins out there wreaking havoc. God only knows how on earth he'd be able to gather them all and make them stay put, or explain this to his father. The King would probably not react very well.

()()()

The key turns in the lock with a click and instantly, the physician is hit by a bad feeling. Something is off.

"Merlin?" Gaius calls out as he enters his chambers, but is greeted by eerie silence. The room is empty: everything is left undisturbed, as if no one has ever been there."Merlin?" There's no answer.

No one is there.

Which means only one thing:  _this_  version of Merlin must have control of magic and no qualms about using it (as opposed to the worried one who starts trembling like a leaf at the very mention of the M-word) and must have used it to escape without a trace. At this very moment he could be roaming the streets of Camelot without a care in the world.

_Oh no._

()()()

"Sire! Sire!  _Sire!"_

The old man crashes into the royal chambers and Arthur looks up from where he's pulling at Angry Merlin's collar to keep him from pummeling Happy Merlin into a bloody pulp, while Worried Merlin startles at the entry and jumps to hide inside wardrobe. Confused Merlin looks generally confused.

"What now?" the prince growls. He's getting tired of babysitting all these versions of his stupid manservant. Once he gets his hands on his  _complete_ servant he'll chew those stupid ears off.

"I can't find the other Merlin!"

Arthur's eyes widen. "What? He's  _run away?"_

"Yes, I'm afraid so. We must locate him at once before he gets into trouble!"

Happy Merlin smiles broadly, again, acting like an overexcited puppy. "Can I help? Can I help? It'd be so fun! Oh gosh this is the happiest day of my life! All these new friends!"

"I don't think that's very wise-" Arthur starts but Happy Merlin cuts him off with a hug.

 _"_ Yippie! I'm coming with you!" And then he runs off before he can be stopped, intend on finding this new friend, and when the prince rushes after him leaving the door open, the other Merlins follow (except the Angry One, who stalks off in the other direction intent on breaking something.)

()()()

 **"Young warlock! Listen to me,"**  a strong sudden voice echoes in Merlin's head and he halts in the middle of the hallway, growling. **"It is urgent."**

"Why can't a guy be left the fuck  _alone_  in this crazy place?" Merlin exclaims through his and the dragon's mental connection, and letting loose a string of foul words which makes Kilgarrah wonder where on earth the boy's learnt them. "Fuck off, stupid lizard! Leave me  _alone!"_

 **"Now, that is not the way to speak to your elders,"**  the dragon reprimands the warlock and continues in a grave tone (ignoring all protests and swearing of cutting heads off from the other end of the line):  **"As I've said, it's urgent. The day is dependent of the turning of the night; a coin is not one-sided; thus, it is crucial that the fragments of yourself are gathered and slotted together before Albion itself will be** **doomed** **."** The words are spoken with heavy, dark gravity but there's an equally dark cloud in Merlin's head and chest, blinding him from seeing reason.

"Why don't you dig a fucking hole and hide there and never get back up again, stupid lizard!"

 **"Merlin!"** shouts the dragon, feeling insulted now. **"MERLIN! Don't ignore me-"**

Using willpower alone, Merlin manages to close his mind, shielding it from that bothersome dragon. Momentarily Merlin feels tempted to go down to that bloody cave and stand before the stupid lizard face to face, and tell it off _once and for all._ Yeah, he'll do that and then he's going return to his room to gather all of his possessions and leave this idiotic place, once and for all.

()()()

Sir Kay of Camelot is walking across the courtyard when he runs into the prince's manservant. Quite literarily. Normally, one would assume the boy would murmur an apology or smile and then move on. But this smile Merlin sends the knights is quite  _predatory,_  startling the man.

"Hell _oo_ , handsome," Merlin purrs in a manner sir Kay has never known him to have done before, and presses up against him, trailing a finger down sir Kay's arm. "You know, I know a good private place we could go to and have some  _fun_."

"I, uh, we – are you certain?" sir Kay asks hesitantly. If the prince finds out about this he might have his head and sir Kay likes his where it is. But Merlin is very eager, very intent and,  _oh god_ , he realizes the boy wears  _nothing_  underneath that flimsy jacket, giving the knights' hands have direct access to pale soft skin and …

"Come with me," Merlin breathes into his ear and, dazed, sir Kay lets the boy lead him away from the yard into a castle corridor. The servant presses him into an alcove while fiddling with the man's breeches, rubbing against him in earnest.

" **STOP**!"

The prince's voice is sharp and loud and sir Kay comes back to himself that moment as if someone's dumped a bucket of icy cold water on his head. And when he feels his hands resting on the prince's servant's backside while the prince himself is pointing a sword at them, a furious expression on his face, sir Kay just wants to sink into the ground and die a miserable death from the embarrassment.

Arthur grabs Merlin's arm forcefully and drags him off of sir Kay.  _"Stupid idiot!_  Why the hell did you run off?" he growls at the servant who looks unaffected at the anger. Rather it just seems to …  _excite_  him more.

Merlin licks his lips.  _"_ You're just my taste.  _Gorgeous_ ," he says, eyeing the prince up and down.

By now sir Kay is starting to get confused but he's ignored as footsteps echo down the hall and from the left, an odd group of people emerges. Namely, three other Merlins. Sir Kay wonders if he's eaten something bad this morning. (Can't some kinds of mushrooms make you hallucinate? Oh, he  _knew_  he shouldn't have had that mushroom pie before leaving for work this morning!)

"Oh look! I found them, I found them! Yay!" one of them cries happily, clapping his hands like a child who's just received a gift. "Do I get a cookie as a reward now? I want a cookie. I like cookies!"

"Y-you sure we should step closer?" asks another timidly, eyes flickering like searching for an escape. "That's  _him!_  The one who t-touched me."

"You know him?" asks the third curiously.

"Why'd you all follow me?" demands Arthur to know, swirling around to face them while still holding the horny Merlin's arm in a steady grip (Merlin doesn't seem to mind). "Go back to my chambers at once!" And then he's hit by a thought: "Where's the angry one?"

"I dunno," says Confused Merlin with a shrug. "I just followed these guys, they seemed to have a clue while I didn't."

"Obviously." Arthur rolls his eyes.

Sir Kay coughs. "Err, sire, excuse me. But ... what's going on?"

The prince sighs like he's a very tired parent with too energetic children to look after. "Just get out of here. And don't speak of a  _word_  of what you've just seen, understand! It's an _order."_

Sir Kay cannot argue with that logic and just wants to escape, nodding sharply and turning to leave. "Yes sire!" Maybe he'd better go to the tavern for a couple of strong beers. The Rising Sun is a nice place, people usually doesn't ask questions.

()()()

"One, two, three, four … where's the fifth one?" Gaius asks as a disheveled prince reenters the room, dragging a heap of servants with him. (A bunch of collars could be a worthwhile purchase.)

The prince groans, pained. He never agreed to be a  _babysitter,_  damn it! Why is his servant so  _stupid_  that he got into this mess in the first place? "I've no idea. He ran off earlier. Maybe I should order a search party to find him…"

()()()

**"Young warlock, stop ignoring me. I'm warning you ... The consequences will be severe!"**

()()()

It's a wise decision - sending out search parties, that is - even if eyebrows  _are_  raised when they're given the description of searching for a black-clad angry servant rather than a cheerful and kind neckerchief-wearing one. The rumour mill starts churning, of course, about the servant's abrupt change of behaviour - he's always been known to be kind, not angry and with a tendency to start fights with whoever is in his way - some say it's a spell or curse, something magical, or an illness; others that there's been a fight, perhaps between the Prince and his Servant which was bad enough to cause the sudden change.

But Arthur just hasn't the energy to bother anymore and as soon as orders have been made clear, that once found Merlin is to be taken directly to his chambers, he wanders back to his room and collapses in his large fur-covered chair in front of the fireplace.

Horny Merlin is trying to get into both Stubborn Merlin, Happy Merlin and Confused Merlin's pants, simultaneously, of which the two latter aren't protesting (because the previous thinks it's great they're going to be the  _best of friends_ and the latter is just, well, confused of what's going on and just tries to go with the flow so to speak). Stubborn Merlin is just playing hard to get, but Horny Merlin doesn't seem to mind and won't be stopped.

Arthur closes his eyes and just tries to block everything out for a couple of minutes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in...

A voice, shy and quiet, reaches his ears: "…Arthur?"

The prince struggles to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands. "Yes?"

"Can I…I sit here? Next to you?" Worried Merlin points at the cold stone next to the chair.

"Why not. Take that chair and place it next to mine," Arthur suggests and poor Worried Merlin looks so startled at the suggestion and almost runs off in fright that Arthur has to place a calming hand on his elbow and steer him to his seat. (Maybe he's got respect for royalty, thus doesn't think it's proper to sit on a chair next to royalty. Or he's just so terribly shy).

" _I'll_  gladly sit next to you," Horny Merlin says and saunters over to the prince, seating himself in his lap before Arthur can protest (not that he really wants to). "Or right  _here._  Mmm. Much more  _comfortable_." He lets a hand travel down Arthur's chest and Arthur swallows harshly; his blood suddenly going to places it shouldn't while nimble fingers starts to undo the fastenings of his trousers.

" **Mer** lin," he mutters warningly, but it's a bit too breathy and fast and needy and laden with undertones.

"You want it," Horny Merlin breathes in his ear, eyes dark and wide and needy and Arthur loses control of his voice when soft wet lips comes in contact with his jaw, travelling up to his earlobe at a tantalizing pace.

"Sh-should you really do that?" Worried Merlin squeaks, wide-eyed. He's not entirely sure about this (he's not entirely sure about anything).

"Oh  _yes_ ," purrs the other Merlin making a satisfied noise when the last fastening is free. "And it only gets better."

Arthur is a bit dazed, eyelids fluttering, and then a new pair of hands joins the first, from behind, on his shoulders. "I want to join! Can I? Oh I want to!"

" _I'm_  joining," says Stubborn Merlin. "I'm standing closest to him; it's my right, back off."

One Merlin reaches out to help the other out of his clothes (it's starting to get difficult telling them apart). Then Arthur lets Merlin grab him and drag him over to the king-sized bed, shirt and trousers dropping on the floor and he's suddenly surrounded by two more naked bodies, soft skin and skilful hands and the only thing he manages to think is '... _Oh_.'

"Join us," Horny Merlin suggests eagerly to the remaining two.

"I-I'm not sure," says Worried Merlin hesitantly, but unable to look away from the scene; it's doing  _things_  to his body, sends his heart aflutter and his face warm, not to mention … other parts. But, he's a bit scared. He's not sure. The other Merlin reaches out, a familiar hand enclosing around his wrist and pulls him down on the soft thick mattress.

"There. Now, we've got to get rid of those bothersome clothes…" Merlin lifts his gaze to look at Confused Merlin still standing. "And you too, handsome."

Somehow they all end up in the bed in various degrees of undress; Arthur definitely can't tell them apart now, and is ready to burst when seeing not two, but five Merlins joined beside and above him, consisting of caresses and tantalizing touches, long limbs and pale skin and slow wet kisses, each one doing some truly naughty things,  _he can't even ..._

()()()

"There he is!" Greg the Guard shouts to his companions who quickly join him in the chase. "We've got him now!"

The black-clad servant looks over his shoulders and curses, loudly, before picking up a run and elbowing through the crowd on the marketplace. A not very pleased woman selling apples yells after him when he deliberately crashes into her stand, sending fruits and baskets flying, and Angry Merlin allows himself a sinister smirk: that ought to slow those stupid guards down!

He is so swallowed up by his arrogant confidence and anger at the guards, that he doesn't notice the net trapping, which any other (well, not  _any,_  but several) Merlins would've noticed at once, hanging above his head - not until it's too late as the guards holding it lets go and he's covered with it, falling to the ground in a tangled heap.

 _"_ Fuuuck!" he shouts, swearing and clawing at it. He tries reaching for his magic, but it slips out of his grasp like it's been covered with oil and like at a distance he can hear the annoying laughter of a giant lizard.  _Damn that stupid dragon!_

()()()

"What is the meaning of this?" demands the King as he's presented by a foul-mouthed servant carefully wrapped in fishing net, constantly kicking and screaming and clawing at it in vain. Three guards are holding him down and several others are hovering nearby.

Uther was on his daily walk down the west wing main corridor and back, when he encountered the group of guards, surprised since he's certainly not ordered a whole pack of them to roam the halls like this. The King is clearly upset that his daily walk has been interrupted this way.

"Prince's orders, Your Highness," says one of the guards.

The King narrows his eyes, regarding the package closely. "Isn't that Arthur's manservant?" he asks. "Melvin or whatever is his name."

Another of the guards nods in accord. "Yes, sire. Apparently some kind of potion accident made him like this, all aggressive; he ran off and he had to use the net to keep him still. We're escorting him to the prince's chambers now, sire."

 _What's this? 'Potion accident'? Sounds like_ _magic_ _to me,_  Uther thinks darkly _, foul magic indeed. Of course it's happened to that idiot servant! Strange things always seem happen around that boy. Arthur really needs to keep a better eye on him!_

"I'll come with you," he says, ignoring the raised eyebrows (honestly, nobody seems to have proper respect toward their betters nowadays. Guards shouldn't just walk around and raise eyebrows at their King! He needs to have a talk with Gaius about influence.)

()()()

Arthur doesn't think this is a dream, even if this reality is incredibly illogical. And he's glad it's not a dream, having four pair of soft arms wrapped around him, at various places. This must be one of his best waking-ups in his life, and he plans on enjoying it fully, just as he's enjoyed the last two (or was it three?) hours fully.

But then, the inevitable happens. Stubborn knocking on the door and muffled voices. Thank god he's locked the door.

With a sigh he pulls himself up into a sitting position.

"No, don't leave already," Horny Merlin groans in disappointment.

From the other side of the door, instead of Gaius' or a guard's voice, Arthur hears to his horror none other than his  _father's_  voice:  _"Arthur! Open up this door at once!"_

"Shit!" Arthur exclaims, immediately alert. He glances over at the other occupants of the giant bed. They're all looking at him with different expressions. "You got to hide. Now! Into the wardrobe, under the bed, whatever."

Worried Merlin thankfully gets the clue and wraps himself in the nearest blanket and Arthur manages to push Confused Merlin in the same direction and get them into the wardrobe and close it. Happy Merlin dives under the bed after getting an annoyed push in the backside and that leaves Stubborn Merlin clinging to the sheets and Horny Merlin clinging to Arthur, arms tight around the prince's torso.

"Get off!" the prince hisses. "Father will kill us all if he sees!"

"Will not," Stubborn Merlin says petulantly, "I won't let him."

From outside, his father's voice reaches new heights. _"Arthur! I'm warning you!"_  The pounding on the doors gets worse and worse for each passing second.

"Just - shut up all right. And lie  _still!"_

Having no other choice, Arthur wrestles Horny Merlin off of him and covers them both with a heap of blankets and pillows, then jumps of the bed and hastily searches for a pair of pants and kicks the clothes that are spread about the room into a decent pile in a corner. Then, he takes a deep breath, struggling to get his fast breath and flushed face under control, and opens the door.

On the doorstep Uther stands, dressed in his finest coat, and behind him there are a dozen guards and what looks like a giant black fish trapped in a net that upon closer inspection proves to be a wayward servant.

_Oh. So they managed to catch him. Good...I think._

"What's going on here, Arthur?" growls the King.

 _His morning walk must have been interrupted,_  thinks Arthur.  _No wonder he's in such a foul mood._

"Nothing, father," he says quickly and glances back at the bed. There doesn't seem to have been any movement - yet. He needs to create a diversion or something, fast, before anything goes wrong. He needs to get Angry Merlin into his room and his father away from here,  _now._

"Then I suppose it's normal for you to have your servants go so berserk that you have to use half the army to look for them and gather them, I suppose." His father gives him a sharp dangerous look and Arthur winces.

"Err ... not ... quite, father. It was a ... an accident. Involving one of Gaius' potions," the prince quickly comes up with a lie. "It wasn't supposed to be ingested but Merlin, the idiot he is, drank some it anyway and he experienced a sudden change in personality. Gaius assures me it's harmless and will wear off in a few hours. I thought it best to keep an eye on him, but unfortunately he ... ran off earlier and-"

The King holds up a hand. "Enough of that babble." There's a slight pause and Arthur can breathe again; he's given a look which tells him he's for the clear, for now. "But if  _anything_ like this happens again..." The warning is left hanging in the air and Arthur nods dutifully. "Now, I'll speak with Gaius of this ... potion. And make sure to punish that idiot servant of yours for this unacceptable behaviour!"

"Yes, father, I shall." He gives a subtle bow of his head, just to soothe his father's ire, and with a tired sigh Uther turns on his heel and takes his leave.

A still very angry, loudly cursing Merlin is dragged into the center of the room and Arthur orders the guards to go. They all seem relieved. Once they're all gone and the door closed and locked, the prince swirls around to stand face to face with Angry Merlin, who stares back darkly.

"You idiot!  _Stupid_  idiot!  _Never_  run off like that again!"

"Whatever."

For a moment they just stand there staring at each other.

Eventually Arthur moves forward, tugging at the net. "This is the silliest thing I've ever seen you in. Honestly,  **Mer** lin, the messes you get into."

"Screw you."

"Fine, if you  _don't_  want to get out of that stuff..."

Angry Merlin huffs and turns around, evidently to stalk across the room but stumbles in true Merlin-fashion and Arthur reacts just in time to catch him. Somehow Merlin stays still long enough for Arthur to actually get him free and the net is tossed in a corner, and another staring contest begins.

A curious head peeks out from beneath the fluffy mountain of pillows on the bed. "Coast clear yet?" asks its owner, followed by a whistle of appreciation. "Oooh, a handsome in black .. _._  I like it. Like it very much. Black is  _sexy."_

"No it isn't," argues Stubborn Merlin, who argues against anything and everything no matter what, simply because it's in his nature to do so.

"Of course black is sexy. It's always sexy."

"No, it isn't."

Arthur wonders how long Gaius will have to do his research to come up with something to solve this mess. He doesn't want to  _imagine_  an argument between Stubborn and Angry Merlin.

()()()

This has been one of the longest days of Arthur's life. Sure, it's been memorable - in places  _very_  memorable - but if Gaius doesn't find a cure or solution soon he thinks he might go mad.

Thankfully, Gaius does present a solution before sunset. By the time the physician arrives at the prince's chambers, everything is at order: the bed is made, everyone is properly dressed (well, except for Horny Merlin, who wasn't to begin with and it's no idea to even try since he'll discard his clothes soon enough anyway) and Arthur and Worried Merlin are playing a round of chess (but Worried Merlin keeps biting his nails nervously more than he thinks of his next moves, which means he constantly loses).

A large dusty book is put at the dining table and everyone leans in to study it more closely.

"It's rather simple," Gaius explains. "This spell," he points a finger to a string of words in a script Arthur can't read, "must be spoken by all the 'parts' of Merlin at the same time. Their magic will react together and create an effect strong enough to put them together again, so to speak."

"Okay, let's do it!" Happy Merlin says and jumps up, starting to read the spell.

"Hey, wait!" Arthur cries.  _"Together!"_

 _"_ Oh, right. Hang on." Happy Merlin looks around the table at his counterparts, nodding at each one of them. "Have you read it now?" Some nods are given, some shrugs and some 'yes'. "So, ready?"

"Yeah," the Merlins say in choir, and the black-clad one shrugs like he doesn't care.

Arthur crosses his fingers underneath the table.  _If this spell doesn't work, or if they're not timed, or if it just splits them into_  more _copies ..._

"All right! On three. One...two...three!"

The room is filled with a choir of voices talking in the language of the Old Religion. The next moment, light envelopes all Merlins individually, so bright that Arthur has to shield his eyes and look away. As the light fades, the copies are gone, and only one Merlin is left, lying on his back on the stone floor staring up at the ceiling, dazed. His clothes are a mis-match of blue and red and black and his tunic is missing altogether underneath his jacket.

"Euhm," he says, not in a special kind of tone which Arthur can specificity to one kind of Merlin, but it's a perfect blend of  _everything_  and there's so much relief in Arthur's heart at seeing just that one Merlin,  _his_  one Merlin, he can't put words to it.

"Hello," Merlin says, sitting up and rubbing at his neck awkwardly. "Sorry about … that. But I can't believe the spell worked that  _easily!"_

Gaius just gives his ward the Unimpressed Eyebrow Look(TM).

"I won't even ask what spell split you in the first place, I wouldn't understand the gibberish anyway," Arthur says, unable to keep away the wide grin of glee. Then he gains a much more serious expression: "But if you  _ever_  do that again I'll personally hunt down and behead every one of you! You've  _no idea_  how tiresome it was looking after all you!"

Merlin looks at him bemusedly, a secret little smile on his lips, and Arthur wonders what kind of memories Merlin has of this ... event.  _"Sure,_  Arthur," he says, sending him a sly glance.

The prince suddenly wonders if there is a chance of redoing a less dangerous, less troublesome version of that splitting/copying spell, like, tonight, if he can get Merlin into his bed. Without any clothes on. No, then he wouldn't an extra Merlin or two, as long as they're not too difficult to handle and doesn't run off – yes, this is starting to sound very nice ... very nice.

But he'll have to create a distraction for Gaius first. The old man will have a  _fit_  if he finds out what Arthur's been doing with his ward ... ward _s_... not so long ago. And definitely not be happy if finding out what kind of plans are going through Arthur's head right now.


	34. Anger Crazy Pixies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warnings/Spoilers for this chapter: This will contain genderswap so if you're uncomfortable with that, don't read further. (But from a humorous point of view.) And UST. It also assumes Arthur and the rest knows of Merlin's magic. No detailed spoilers, just general ones of seasons 3-4. This chapter also got ridiculous long – some 11k words. The ending … I'm not all that happy with it. I had NO IDEA how to write it, to be honest, I just came up with something utterly ridiculous and went with it._

The meeting with the pixies is a total accident.

They're rather cute actually, with the sparkles and vibrant colours and dancing lights and tiny fluttering wings. But – and there's  _always_  a 'but' – their use of language, well, it makes Merlin's ears red with embarrassment, and their sense of humour is darker than the deepest starless night. Lastly, they've got some nasty,  _nasty_  temper.

Note to self: never anger a pixie.

Merlin never  _means_ to stumble on that root and never  _means_  to crash straight onto one of their tea parties and ruin those flower decorations. He never sees or senses them or anything beforehand; with his bad luck, it just  _happens_!

Desperately he tries to explain himself and make plausible excuses, hands flailing and cheeks flushed red, apologizing over and over and over. But the pixies won't listen and they're very,  _very_  angry now, and when one of them raises its pink wand-stick-thingy in his direction and starts the spell, there's no time to react with a counter spell. A white light wraps around him and all Merlin can think is ' _Oh_ _no,_ _I'm—'_

()()()

It's been over two bloody  _hours_  now. Arthur is  _a tad bit_  annoyed with that stupid manservant of his. They've been to this forest hundreds of times; how could Merlin have gotten lost –  _again_? Stupid manservant. Really, if not for those ears, Arthur would never let him come with him on hunts in the forest. (And possibly have him fired already.) He always complains and makes so much noise he scares off all wildlife.

But before he can set any rules about that, Arthur needs to  _find_  him.

They've searched everywhere, he and his knights: in treetops, under rocks, in that stream northwest of the city and Arthur even dove head-first into a giant deep puddle of mud, thanks to which he won't be blonde in at least a week because Merlin the stupid idiot will think it so  _hilarious_  he won't let Arthur wash it out (being in charge of baths and bedtimes and things like that). Merlin  _shouldn't_  find it hilarious, Arthur thinks, no, he should be damn and well thankful Arthur swallowed his dignity like that in attempt to save the lad's skinny backside! That is, if they  _find_  said skinny backside first.

"Maybe he's gone back to Camelot," Leon suggests.

"And if he hasn't and been captured by bandits or another, I suppose we're all happy to turn back to Camelot anyway, yes, let's go to the tavern and celebrate," Arthur snaps back heatedly, eyes flashing like sharp knives and the knight quickly apologizes and takes a couple of steps back, out of sword's range.

"Sire! Listen!"

They all stop and listen at Lancelot's urgent tone.

Ahead, beneath a heavy veil of foliage, there's the mouth of a cave, and from it echoes can be heard. It takes a moment for Arthur to realize what it is. A voice! And more than that, it's muttering in the language of the Old Religion, or what sounds like it because Arthur's never been really sure what's it and what's gibberish. But this is like someone lighting a candle in a very dark night, a  _sign_ ; only Merlin would be stupid enough to crawl into open caves and do magic in the middle of day.

"Over there! Hurry!"

They all rush through the bushes like a pack of overgrown hounds, eagerly having picked up their trail, and barking as well. The effect is immediate: the muttering turns into a sudden shriek as the knights crash into the cave, spilling onto the floor since Gwaine trips on Percival's shin and grabs Leon's sleeve simultaneously, and the oldest knight stumbles onto Arthur's back, and Lancelot shoots after them trying to steady them all, sending them all to the ground in a heap, atop of whoever the voice belongs to.

" _Oof_! What—"

Wait. Arthur's brain processes the sound carefully. That's ... that's not Merlin's voice.

"Get off me you giant  _prats_!" continues the strange not-Merlin voice; high-pitched and awkward and many layers of annoyed. "A-and get your hand off of  _there_!"

Hang on! Arthur pauses in hesitation. That's not even … that's not even a  _man's_  voice. Sure, Arthur's called Merlin a girl a hundred times but it's not like he's really one, physically anyway, and he  _doesn't_  have that kind of voice. So logically, that's not Merlin.

The knights come to their senses sharply, starting to untangle themselves and help each off the ground and Arthur looks up as light spills into the cave; and he realizes that the strangely soft body he's landed on is a  _woman_.

 _What's she doing here?_ the prince wonders utterly bewildered. She's quite … pretty actually, even if she does have kind of large ears.  _And dressed like that!_ Her hair is loose and wild, maybe caused by the sudden fall, but even as it's long it falls down barely to hide her …  _those_ , yes, well, Arthur has honour not enough to look at them directly but the too-large blue tunic that's revealing a pale shoulder does little to help matters.

Especially when Arthur sees why she shrieked like that just a few seconds ago.

Before the reputation of his knights can be sullied  _forever,_  the prince launches forward and wrenches off Gwaine's hand. The man stares at where he's just grabbed (by mistake, off course, he assures the, all later but nobody really believes him). "…Tits," he breathes and a happy grin spreads over his face. "Ah! The joy of the fairer species!"

He's rewarded by a resounding forceful slap that makes him crash into Leon, who definitely thinks the man deserves it; that's not how one treats a lady!

" _Owowow_!" the man groans in pain. "What a  _fist_!"

"Gwaine!" Arthur barks right into his ear. "Apologize to the fair lady immediately!"

"Wait, I'm not-," says not-Merlin but the knight cuts through her words.

"Sorry, sorry," Gwaine murmurs and glances at the woman at least  _feigning_  embarrassment. Then metaphorically he sweeps his hat off with a flourish, as if there was no quite impressive bruise now adorning his cheek. "Sir Gwaine at your service, milady. I humbly apologize for my reprehensible behaviour. Please allow me to make up for it." And he takes her hand and kisses it very gentlemanly.

"GWAINE!" not-Merlin shrieks and takes back her offended hand, obviously not accepting that - or maybe  _any_  - apology. "I'm not a bloody lady,you-you  _twat_!"

"What language!" Elyan exclaims. He's never heard his sister or any other women speak like that; they usually were careful of what they said, even regarding gossip, though they  _love_ gossiping. Then again, being training so hard to fulfill his role as a knight, he's not been around a lot of women in a couple of months, just like his fellow knights. And that perhaps is the reason they all react as they do when encountering such a fine example of said fair species.

Arthur just stares at her. What's with this strange behaviour? Has she hit her head? And how does she know their names without introduction? How come she takes insult to being called a lady – it should be an honour! Granted, it's not every day you find a lovely girl a cave but at least she should be  _thankful_ of them finding her! They'll take her back to Camelot and give her some food and shelter (and proper clothing. Because, really, that too-large tunic isn't covering enough; at least not enough to have Gwaine anywhere nearby). If not for him and his knights, she could have been eaten by beasts or taken by bandits in the middle of night or something else horrendous and dreadful. Besides, the danger is even higher when she's not properly dressed - she's not even wearing skirt! And there are no shoes in sight, as if - if she's ever possessed any - they've vanished by magic.

"Who the hell cares about fucking language right now?" bristles the lady angrily like she's had all this frustration bottled up for days and she starts pacing, glaring at Arthur for some particular reason he cannot comprehend. (Even if he kind of does. Because her  _breasts_. While she's  _pacing_ back and forth right in front of him ... he can't just – he  _can't_.)

"Stop  _staring_! Listen to me, dollophead!" the woman rages like a storm, beautiful with red angry streaks on her high cheekbones. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Have we met before?" Arthur asks curiously, and dubiously. Surely if they had he should be able to recall such a fair face…!

"It's me - it's MERLIN, you prat!"

Silence falls shocked and heavy over the group and they all take time looking at the woman, disbelieving and wide-eyed. The woman (if it really  _is_  a woman) stares back with a growing red hue to her cheeks, and it's hard to determine whether it's because of anger or embarrassment. The prince blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

…Oh yes, now he can see the proof: a very bright red neckerchief wrapped around her neck. And it does explain her, err, peculiar character. Strange that he didn't notice it before, the neckerchief. Might've been the very, very distractive breasts though, which Merlin's large neckerchief for some reason can't properly cover. And doesn't it wind him to think 'breasts' and 'Merlin' in the same sentence.

"…Merlin?" he asks.

And then he adds, for good measure, "…You  _can't_  be serious." And glances down. Because. Merlin. Arthur's brain might start melting anytime now.

The woman sends him a look that says  _Do you want me to SPELL IT OUT for you, sire_? which is entirely too familiar.

"R-really?" the prince chokes out, oh god, oh god, this really is his  _manservant_ , who's anyway far too pretty for his (uhm, her?) own good now has turned into this gorgeous, gorgeous woman with high, sharp cheekbones and round soft – and, and – he'd better stop right there, before he gets into some serious trouble.

"Yes, you cabbage-head!"

"But, but," Arthur splutters and points at Merlin's body; "you're a  _woman_!"

Merlin throws his arms out in exasperation, groaning in annoyance and Arthur really, really _shouldn't_  take so much notice of that sound. "Yes, I quite noticed that thank you!"

The knights just keep on gaping like fish and, in Leon's case, mouth opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like trying to form sensible words.

" _Oh_." Suddenly it all makes sense, the sudden disappearance and hiding away; albeit Arthur can't quite understand why Merlin was so keen on hiding. It's not like it's anything to be ashamed of, that body, no, definitely not ... But then a thought hits Arthur square in the chest like a spear. "Did someone do this to you? Who did this? Tell me!" the prince asks with a sudden heat to his words, because if someone has laid a  _finger_  on Merlin, if they've touched a single hair on Merlin's head, Arthur will make them pay.

He glances around just in case there is some mad sorcerer or sorceress about to jump out of an alcove and turn them all female -  _or_   _worse_  - and reaches for his sword; his knights copy the move instinctively. However, Merlin stops him from drawing his weapon.

"I had a run in with, err, pixies," the warlock says with a grimace, not quite sure if the knights will believe him, still moving his quite lovely hands about like unsure what to do with them and clenching to his thin tunic, trying to cover everything …  _important_  from view.

"... Pixies," Arthur repeats, slightly doubtfully.

"They were rather angry," Merlin continues, somewhere between distressed (because of what's happened) and annoyed (at Arthur's apparent dumbness and pratliness and his bad influence on the knights). "I accidentally crushed their tea party.  _Accidentally!_  I didn't see that root and then I tripped and, well, I never  _meant_  to! And I'm not planning on getting any of you into the same, err, predicament! They've gone now, so I doubt they'll do the same to you…but, I'm not sure. Just, be careful, don't straight step into dark bushes! They might be dangerous!" he adds the warning, just in case. If they wander back to Camelot and accidentally all get turned into women, King Uther will be quite furious. And Gaius. Merlin shudders when thinking of how the physician would react (and  _will_  react, when seeing what's happened to his ward. Merlin doubts he can hide out here forever. Arthur's going to drag him back one way or the other, the stubborn git).

"Have you tried …err, turning back?" Arthur asks distractedly and Merlin crosses his (her?) arms over his chest, grumbling an annoyed curse when the action is not that simple when his chest isn't that flat anymore.

"Of course I've tried!" Merlin cries. "What do you  _think_  I've been doing hiding in a cave for the last two hours?"

Gwaine wriggles his eyebrows mysteriously (or not so mysteriously) and Merlin blushes down to the root of her, err, his hair and mutter something about the ethical implications of turning knights into toads.

 _This is getting quite confusing_ , Arthur thinks,  _him and her._ He's not sure what to call him … her … anymore, nothing makes quite sense. Why did they always get into situations crazy like these?

Either Merlin gets into some kind of trouble or one of his knights does and sometimes Arthur. But mostly, mostly it's Merlin. Just because Merlin is so stupid, he supposes, so clumsy and with no self-preservation whatsoever. To what lengths must he go to ensure that his warlock doesn't get into trouble every five minutes, build a tower and lock him in there? Or her. Now it's definitely her. Arthur's brain just can't work if he calls Merlin 'him' when she's got such lovely curves and , anyway, he might never regain his sanity after this so he must guard what's left.

What if Merlin is a mind-reader, being magic and all, and now can see all thoughts about soft thighs with skin the colour of snow, hair black as night, and other similar themes swirling just inside Arthur's skull? Oh no, he'll get turned into a toad within the next five minutes, or worse!

Arthur tries to shut up his treacherous mind, yelling at it, but it stubbornly refuses to listen, especially when Merlin swirls around and looks at him with blazing eyes, jabbing an accusing finger towards him which causes some certain female appendages to move, like they were quietly begging him to  _drag_  his gaze towards them—

"YOU!"

Arthur gulps, not audibly or noticeably of course, and thanks to his spine of steel manages to hold his ground as a very pissed off warlock stalks toward him (his knights aren't as brave but the prince is too occupied to notice) and ends up standing very close, so close that Arthur can sense that familiar nice smell of Merlin's, of summer and strawberries and freshly cut grass. He mustn't look down,  _mustn't look down_  her tunic—

"This is your entire fault!" Merlin hisses. "If not for you I'd not been forced to go on this bloody hunting trip and then I wouldn't have fallen and met the pixies and then they'd not turned me into a girl!"

"Hang on, how's this  _ **my**_ fault?"

The warlock takes a quick breath, just to attack the next man in line. One by one, the servant takes them down, much more effective than any sword or arrow. "And you, Leon, supporting that stupid idea! And you, Percival, Elyan! Agreeing to let the prat have his way and go on this stupid trip instead of convincing him otherwise! Don't you look away, Lancelot, you know it's true! And  _you_ ,  _sir_  Gwaine, I really start to understand how Rosie and all those other kitchen girls are feeling, with all your, your  _feeling up_! Have you no _shame_?"

"I'm sorry Merlin, but," Gwaine says and flashes a too-white and hopefully charming smile, "You make a very lovely woman. No sane man could resist such a temptation."

"You're  _impossible_! All of you! Argh, men!"

With that, the servant storms out of the cave, panting and red in the face.

Once the silence has settled comfortable around them, the knights exchange glances, unsure whether to be amused or horrified. Leon definitely looks the latter. Gwaine just looks satisfied watching Merlin walk off, that backside is really quite nice to look at no matter if it's male or female; well, until Arthur notices and proceeds to make him look at and eat stone floor instead.

"…What do we do now?" Percival asks at last and gestures toward the mouth of the cave, in the general direction of Camelot. "Should we find him-"

"'Her'," Elyan puts in uncertainly. "Isn't it?"

"-Him, and go back to the city in his current condition, or try to find a solution first? Sire?"

"Yeah," Arthur says slowly and starts climbing out into the fresh sunlight again. "We'd better find her-"

" _Him_." Percival is quite adamant with this; perhaps he's philosophized about it while the rest of the knights were bickering and staring like a group of overgrown children before. He's a calm and sensible man, after all. "He's still male in the mind, even if his body isn't."

"- _whatever_ ," sighs the prince and waves a hand, pointing in the direction Merlin stalked off to. "We'd better find her before she stumbles and breaks her neck or something."

()()()

It takes some time before they can locate the servant again, this time sitting by the stream on a large rock. Merlin's arms are crossed and his glare drills holes through their skulls in quick succession.

"Well?" Merlin demands.

"Well what?" Arthur asks, confused.

"Are you going to apologize?"

"What for?" The prince sounds befuddled.

Merlin still has his arms crossed but somehow deflates, shoulders slumping slightly and he sighs, muttering something quickly and looking at the water, before shrugging. "Never mind. We should go back to Camelot."

"No."

Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur quickly adds (he doesn't want Merlin to become angry with him…again); "I mean, you can't go dressed like  _that._  People will … stare. Here. Use my cloak." He unbuckles it with some difficulty since it's usually Merlin who does this for him but now he's sitting there stubbornly refusing to move to help. When he finally manages to get it off, Merlin snatches it out of his hands and wraps it around his female body protectively before Arthur can finish his next sentence: "You'll ride with m-"

"I'll be fine walking, thanks."

"You don't have any shoes," Arthur says and feels strangely pathetic and small when Merlin glares him down.

Shock and annoyance wells up in him like a dam has burst when Percival offers Merlin to take his horse instead and the servant smiles sweetly and thanks him and  _accepts_  the offer. The knight helps Merlin into the saddle.  _What's this_? How can Merlin do that? If there's any horse Merlin should be riding it's Arthur's! Nobody else's!

"Jealous, princess?" Gwaine mutters from the corner of his mouth, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

"No. Whatever gave you that stupid idea? And don't answer that," Arthur says briskly and stalks away from the knight and does _absolutely not_  look over his shoulder at Merlin, who is gently being helped into the saddle by the biggest knight while tugging at his cloak to preserve some modesty. And Arthur does  _absolutely not_  keep glancing every five minutes back at him to make sure there are no wandering hands from either of his men or simply from desire to watch a certain servant during the rest of the ride to Camelot. He does. Absolutely. Not.

()()()

Gaius finds it horrifying at first, then quite hilarious when Merlin stutters and flushes as he explains what's happened, and how it was a  _total_   _accident_  and that he'd never meant to anger those pixies. It's not his fault! It isn't.

The old man shakes his head with a sigh; his ward always finds trouble, it's probably a natural order!

The prince and his knights hover in the background anxiously like a pack of protective dogs. Merlin's new form mightn't be so bad to look at but they're still very worried about his welfare. The transformation must've been quite, err, abrupt, after all. Gaius had to assure them that pixies are so quick and tiny, a hunt for them would be unfruitful and they'd definitely not help humans anyway, not willingly – thus it's a bad idea to launch a search for the little mischief-makers, no matter how much Arthur wants to run something through with his sword.

"Well, we better find you some more suitable clothes, while we search for a solution," the physician says as Merlin re-enters the room from his own little chamber now wearing a pair of trousers. The warlock is still very annoyed that his shoes are gone (the pixies had taken amusement in magicking away almost all of his clothing and those were his  _only_  pair. Not only is new shoes expensive, it'll take awhile for the cobbler to get them done and the lacking quality of the ones he'll eventually afford will force him to walk around as if having buckets on his feet for the next two  _months_.) The clothes he's wearing now are far too big and he's made a new hole in his belt to make them fit, but still, they're men's clothes, not made for … this kind of body, so they're not very comfortable. But they'll do. It's not like he'll be stuck like this forever or anything. He'll fix this, or Gaius will fix it, somehow.

Still, Merlin looks at Gaius with crossed arms when he says that. "What? Why? What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

He receives an infamous Eyebrow Look. "We've agreed to keep a low profile about this, Merlin, and that's not so easy when a woman is going about clad in your normal attire. It's too easily recognizable. People will figure out what's happened in a candle-mark and then the King will hear of it, and think that  _you've_  used magic and you know what'll happen then! Speaking of which, you probably shouldn't be serving Arthur-"

"I'm still  _me,_ of course I'll still wear my things and go about my normal duties," Merlin cuts in. "I've not turned into a woman for  _fun_!"

(The knights and prince look quite disappointed at that.)

"Now, now, it's not that bad, Merlin," Gaius says and pats his shoulder. "Why doesn't one of these gentlemen escort you to the seamstress?"

()()()

 _Gentlemen my backside_ , Merlin thinks gloomily as he stands in the centre of the room, arms crossed and eyes dark.  _Annoying-men more like. If that's a word. Well, I'm making it a word._

He's lost count of how many times on the way here the knights and prince in turn tried to "help" in some way - hold his elbows, lift him, pat his back, offer him flowers and sweet assurances and glances, and laid down their cloaks/jackets onto the dirty road so that Merlin won't have to walk across puddles of mud. (The latter is very strange behaviour. Does Prince Prat do it just to give Merlin more dirty laundry? Stupid prat. And the knights pick up his behaviour like eager puppies, watching and copying his every move – it's starting to drive Merlin  _insane_!)

And as they entered the seamstress' shop, the knights immediately started examining the piles of fabric "for your dresses" they said, an all too-eager gleam in their eyes, and Merlin tried to use that momentarily distraction and run off but Arthur caught him three feet from the door and practically chained him to the floor so that his measurements could be taken. So he has no choice but to stand here and suffer in great humiliation and pain.

Merlin doesn't manage to contain a flinch as the seamstress nears him armed with measuring tape and needles and the firm order to stand still.

()()()

The seamstress is very excited and curious when greeted by the unexpected customers. She's never seen this young lady before, and coming to her modest shop in such great company – the Crown Prince and his closest band of Knights themselves…!

Perhaps she is from some faraway kingdom and they are trying to court her? Well, that's not working very well, judging by the lady's facial expressions and body language. She looks like she'd rather run and hide, and none of the men seem to catch a clue. Perhaps she's embarrassed of her current state – the seamstress knows  _she_  wouldn't want to be caught dressed like  _that_. Poor girl. She's a natural beauty though, and the seamstress is convinced she can make her look stunning by the end of the day. In fact she won't let the young lady out of her shop before she's got at least two different outfits.

It's quite odd, the seamstress thinks as she observes them, how close they seem to be to the lady, despite the fact she doesn't  _look_  like a noble and she doesn't have the proper language or stance either. Her clothes are frankly put  _terrible_. Was she brought up in the street?

"Poor girl," the seamstress mutters, patting her arm, and the lady flushes; the seamstress is starting to get rather worried now. The young lady's reaction is rather comical, her ears reddening and eyes widening, as she stares at the seamstress as if she's grown a second head. "Don't you worry dear, we'll have you something nice to wear in no time." She finishes taking measurements, and looks critically down at the lady's old worn boyish shoes (they look  _just_   _like_  the ones all of the stable-boys wear!); they don't look comfortable and wouldn't fit with any dress. They've got to go  _now_.

"Why don't you sit down for a moment and rest your feet while I fetch some fabric."

"Uh, sure," the lady says in a very unlady-like manner and glances at her very uncertainly. The seamstress wishes she knew who and where the poor thing's parents were so that she could berate them for this neglect.

"Wonderful!" The seamstress turns to the men who are animatedly discussing (well, arguing) about whether sapphire blue or emerald green silk is the best option over in a corner, and she hides an amused smile behind her hand as she approaches them. She's got a great deal of respect for the knights, but there are some things they just shouldn't do. "Excuse me, sirs, but I believe this is  _my_  area of expertise, not yours."

"Of course. I apologize, miss, on behalf of my men's behaviour," the Prince says politely, even managing to look abashed, and tugs at the arm of one of the knights (sir Gwaine, the seamstress can recall: she's seen the handsome man walk through the town and flirt with various people often enough, or by the tavern, singing and telling stories and also flirting with anything that moves), telling him to drop one of the ornate silk laces he's been browsing through.

"But I  _like_  it!" protests sir Gwaine. "He - she'd look so fine in it! Imagine, a green and dark blue dress, with a low cut at the back with a hem of-"

The glare the Prince sends him could've set him afire.

"Right. Right, sorry."

 _What an odd company_ , the seamstress muses, though they've very handsome, all these men, and the young lady is very pretty indeed.  _Oh! I hope she comes to me when a wedding dress is needed…but if these boys seriously have no sense of fashion, or how to treat a lady properly, then I_  will protest, _no doubts about that._

()()()

Arthur can't quite figure out the looks the seamstress keeps sending him, his men and Merlin respectively, no matter how hard he tries. The glances are quite cunning and mysterious.

Actually, they reminds him too much of the looks Morgana would've sent them in this situation, and the prince shudders at the thought and proceed to ignore the looks from then on (and shield Merlin from them the best he can while still letting the seamstress work - which is difficult indeed).

()()()

Several hours and two new dresses later, the knights, the prince and the servant gather in the prince's chamber to eat.

(There'd been a small row between Arthur and Merlin regarding it; Merlin just wanted to crawl into his room and hide for the rest of his life but Arthur insisted that they have a proper meal, with Merlin dressed all nice and everything. The knights wisely kept their distance during this discussion. Arthur was  _very_  close to having his ear  _literally_  chewed off.)

Now they're sitting around the large table, sipping fine wine and ignoring the curious looks the servant George is sending them. Merlin for some reason keeps glaring at George; Arthur can't fathom why. George serves the perfect wine and steak have proper manners and all, and keeps quiet unlike some manservants, at least when he's not making jokes about brass. And Gwaine's ridiculous eyebrows don't help the prince figure out what the problem.

The man-come-maidservant stubbornly refuses to eat more than some cheese, and whacks the prince over the head with a piece of bread for good measure. George's reaction to that was very comical indeed. (Gwaine thinks he should, behind the prince's back, promote him to the prince's second manservant permanently. Just for fun.)

Percival senses at once that Merlin is not happy, and he places a large hand on his shoulder in a hopefully soothing manner and says, "Maybe the spell will wear off by itself?"

Merlin grimaces. "Whenever have we been that lucky?"

"Your turning back wouldn't be  _lucky._  For us, I mean," Gwaine says and is rewarded a kick in the shin by His Pratliness.

"Couldn't we just ask the pixies kindly to reverse this?" Leon suggests and takes a thoughtful bite of the ham sandwich.

Merlin snorts but Arthur nods slowly. "Maybe we could. I mean. These magic creatures have weird whims but maybe we could persuade them. If we offered the proper apology ... perhaps with a gift? What do pixies like, anyway?"

"Gold?" Elyan suggests.

"Power?" is Leon's contribution. "Weaponry? Crossbows?"

"Ale!" proclaims Gwaine.

Percival gently adds, "Maybe they'd like flowers, or a really good sword."

"It's obvious," Merlin says with a sigh. "They like tea!"

The prince frowns. "Why'd they like  _tea_?"

"Because I ruined their tea-party, you twat!"

"Oh," Percival says, eyes widening. "I think you're right."

The knights nod in unison. It makes perfect sense, after all, adding up all the facts they know.

"…The question is," Gwaine says and lowers his voice to a hush-hush tone, leaning in as if sharing a secret, " _where_  and  _how_  we'll get out hands on the kingdom's finest tea without alert the King and his Ever-Watching Evil Minions?"

And thus begins the making of the awesome plan, aka Fixing Merlin's Little Pickle, otherwise known as Sneaking Into the Kitchen and Steal (Borrow) ... (well it's more like stealing) (but Arthur resents: they'll only borrow it, and he's the prince and practically owns the royal kitchens anyway) Some Really Nice Tea For the Pixies.

()()()

"You know all those times I say something  _isn't_  a good idea …"

"And I ignore you, yeah," Arthur fills in automatically, giving Merlin an approving nod (and maybe he sends a look over that dress but, well, it's not his fault, it's the dress, it's got an in-sewn magnet or something).

The servant sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you ever listen to me? You stupid  _prat_."

"Come on. It's not that bad. You just have to distract the cook, a little while, while we make the necessary preparations. It'll be fine." Suddenly Merlin finds Arthur all focused on him, worried and serious and then the prince mutters, "If anything goes wrong, if she comes at you with the rolling pin or anything I'll rush out there and save –  _help_ , I swear," Arthur adds quietly and lays his hands on Merlin's shoulders, hesitating.  _Hug or no hug?_

If he starts hugging he mightn't be able to … stop himself, from … further … advances and well, Merlin mightn't … like that very much, seeing how short her fuse is as of late.

"Fine. But you'll owe me a drink!"

"I'm the  _prince_ , Merlin, I can't be seen buying drinks to my servant."

Arthur still can't will his hands to move away from Merlin's shoulder. In fact they seem to be gaining a will of their own and start to travel downwards, down the shoulder-blades and he feels Merlin shiver beneath the touch, the silk of the dress so incredibly soft. "I. I should. You know." He tears away his left hand from the shoulder to wave it around making sane gestures. "Get going."

The warlock shivers again and looks at him through long dark lashes. "…Yeah."

They break apart hastily and Arthur busies himself inspecting his sword and Merlin mutters what almost sounds like 'prat' on her breath before walking out of the room.

()()()

"Um, excuse me..."

Sara the cook turns on the heel after barking an order at the nearest kitchen aide to keep stirring the stew, coming face to face with what she first thinks must be a lady. She doesn't recognize her though. A guest perhaps? However, the cook spends so much time in her beloved kitchens, she rarely attends to courtly business, if ever, and she easily could have missed to recognize one or two of the court ladies. After all she has to safeguard her kitchen from pilferers all the time.

"Yes?" she demands in a rather stressed tone. The King will want his lunch within the hour and none of the vegetables are yet chopped and the stew is far too thin and there are a hundred other little things needing to be done - she has no  _time_  for this!

"What is it, girl? Make it quick!"

The girl makes a funny, kind of nervous, squeak. "I, uh, I think I've lost my, uh, earring, somewhere around...here ..."

Sara squints and regards the lady intensely. Having lost the earring here means she must've been here before, and Sara can't recall that has happened ... but, sadly enough, she has not full day-and-night control of this place. The lady must have visited the kitchens during late hours; perhaps come asking for a late drink or meal, an odd whim courtiers often have.

"...And I'd like some help retrieving it, please...?" The young woman wrings her hands anxiously and she looks so pitiful and earnest, that even Sara's harsh heart is moved. The Cook suppresses a sigh.

Throwing a look over her shoulder, she shouts at the kitchen aides to continue working, no matter how much they're sweating and how much their shoulders ache, and then turns back to the girl who points toward a corner. The floor of the room is made of solid stone but the thin cracks between are like traps and Sara has doubts that they'll be able to retrieve any earring or smaller object if it's fallen there.

"All right, tell me how it looks like."

"It's, um, white. A … a pearl."

The cook's eyebrows rise in astonishment. A pearl! So the girl  _is_  a fine lady then! All the more important to find that earring then, she supposes. She'd rather not have the lady's family or husband or other important persons to come and nag about it. That'd slow down the staff for sure and then supper would be late.

So, together with the lady, she starts inspecting the floor with intense dark eyes; not noticing a figure slip into the room behind her back.

After a while it becomes clear that if there's ever been a pearl somewhere on the floor, it's now gone (Sara can almost  _bet_  that one of the servant girls took it at first sight, to sell it or keep for themselves), and the lady nods and thanks her anyway for the help, promising there'll be no one bothering the cook about the lost piece of jewelry, and then practically flees over the doorstep. Sara turns back to the giant stove,  _milliseconds_  after the figure has slipped out of the smoky room.

"What's with that lazy stirring!" the cook barks angrily, pointing an accusing finger at the kitchen aide responsible, who startles and almost drops the wooden spoon. "Work faster! We don't have all day!"

()()()

"Phew, that was close," Gwaine breathes a sigh of relief. But he's quite proud, too; he is after all the master of pilfering. This will hopefully soften the prince's anger about the knight's earlier behaviour. He presents a bucketload of leaves. "Perfect, huh?"

"Okay, we've got everything. Let's move out!" Arthur orders, as if they're going on a very dangerous quest (well, they kind of are) - and out they move.

()()()

The forest is much larger than they'd first anticipated. The trees are very much alike. And Merlin is not that good a tracker but the men have promised to be patient, thus they keep quiet when they round the same rock for the third time. Somehow, though, they manage to find the place, a tiny clearing next to an ancient hollow oak, and when squinting Arthur thinks he can see small colourful lights fluttering in and out of sight, but he's not sure if they're real or an illusion.

"I think it was around here…" Merlin points at the oak. "Yes! This root. I tripped on it. Watch out so you don't do the same. This way…" He carefully climbs over the root, hating to trip on it again, fisting and lifting the (ridiculously long) blue skirt. "We should probably-"

He's interrupted by a mighty crash followed by a series of angry, shrill cries. Terrified he whirls around.

The prince and his knights are lying in a heap, draped over the treacherous root. And tiny winged people are buzzing around their heads, screaming and waving their wand-things around in rage.

"Stupid men! Look at what you've done!" one of them cries.

"Our tea, our tea!" adds another.

"Look, pixies, we're friendly guys," Gwaine tells them. "We brought a gift. See! Lots of tea, just for you."

One of the pixies, maybe their leader, with yellow star-patterned wings, lands on the knight's head and pokes at it with its wand and asks, distrustfully, "What flavour?"

Merlin can remember that one clearly. A vicious little creature. It's the one who did this to him. Oh no –  _what if_ … The servant moves forward, to help the men to his feet and maybe he could make amend with the pixies, apologize even if it's unlikely it'll be accepted. Arthur however speaks up before he can help.

"Some odd herbs." He's not quite sure. They didn't have that much time to decide, just grabbed some: the royal cook would've had their heads if they were caught pilfering from her kitchen.

"Herbs! Know you nothing, stupid man!" shouts the pixie. "Lemons are the only acceptable thing! Clearly you need to be taught a lesson."

" _No, wait_!" Merlin cries and leaps toward the prince to help, shield him, anything, but it's too late: light shoots out from the pixie's wand and envelops the prince and as the light fades, the pixies have vanished into thin air, leaving them dazed and confused.

As he sits up, the prince finds that everyone is staring at him.

"What?"

"Oh you stupid  _prat_ ," Merlin sighs and crosses his arms across his chest. "Now look what you've done!"

Arthur sits up slowly, staring at Merlin like he's grown a second head. He's very quiet. Everyone's very silent, even Gwaine, who usually has something to say when things happen to the 'princess' - warning bells goes off in Arthur's head. Slowly, slowly he lifts his hands and feels over his body, which feels very …  _strange_  … and Merlin looks nervous and gently grips Arthur's hands to lift them off from certain areas.

There's a fifteen second pause before the prince manages to voice any reaction.

"I'm ... a woman," Arthur says stupidly.

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin says with a nod.

"I …  _Oh my god_. I'm a  _woman_."

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin says, again, patiently like talking to a small child. "I'm glad we've got that sorted."

Gwaine looks far too gleeful for Arthur – or Merlin for that matter – to be at ease.

()()()

Sneaking back through the city and into the citadel takes nearly an hour. They still haven't come up with a good excuse to the prince's sudden apparent disappearance, or even Merlin's, but they know keeping Arthur's condition a secret will be a tough challenge. They've no idea what to do if Arthur is summoned to see his father or when he's got to fulfill other princely duties. They only have one choice: ask Gaius for advice. Maybe the physician can feign that Arthur is ill, and Merlin too, and make people not suspect a thing. Maybe. Hopefully.

The old man raises an eyebrow at the odd group entering his chambers. At first he thinks the full armoured person is Prince Arthur who for some reason is wearing also a helmet, but upon closer inspection he finds the chainmail and tunic too loose on the frame (on some parts, not everywhere), and the body too short.

"Gaius," Merlin hedges awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. "We have a ... problem."

Arthur pulls off the helmet and drops it with a clang.

Gaius' eyebrow travels further up his temple. "... You're a woman, sire!"

"Yes, I've  _noticed_ ," Arthur mutters angrily.

"Were you not careful when speaking to the pixies?" the old man asks next, pouring two cups of hot tea for them; he's sure they need it after this ordeal.

"How did you know we were going to—MERLIN!"

The servant looks sheepish. "Uhm, oops…sorry. I just thought I should tell him in case…in case things ended badly, he deserved to know we  _might've_  found a cure, so he could search for us if we didn't return for a long while, and if it worked then everything would be back normal and he wouldn't need to browse through the whole old library. Which we didn't anyway so it doesn't matter, right?" With a nervous chuckle he backs up to his room and fetches that second dress the seamstress had made. It ought to fit even if Arthur has got quite more … curves than himself right now. Just  _thinking_  about it makes him feel weird, so he tries not to. He turns back toward Arthur and hands him the dress still blushing avoids looking at Arthur's face, now set in a permanent dark scowl.

"Er, here. It should fit. I mean, it's probably more comfortable than armour."

"Right," Arthur says not very enthusiastically and Merlin can't help the smirk that forms. Finally the prat gets a taste of how it feels to be Merlin! But the smirk fades when Arthur does his kicked-puppy-face, otherwise known as the infamous Pendragon Pout, which melts Merlin's heart a little, and together with Gaius he manages to usher the knights out of the room so the prince can change clothes in (relative) peace.

For a moment Arthur remains standing motionless in the middle of the room. Merlin's mouth forms into an 'oh' with realization. "You can change in there," he says pointing into his room and the prince trudges up the stairs, slamming the door shut after himself. Merlin feels momentarily torn. Maybe he should go up there and give a hand. Calm the prat down...Or maybe his presence would just upset Arthur now?

"Well," Gaius says and pushes a steaming cup onto Merlin's hands, before returning to the table, which is covered with old dusty books. The servant starts drinking without even looking what it is. "Looks like it's a good thing I started to look into this matter myself, then."

Merlin tears his gaze away from the door. "Have you found anything yet?"

"I've only just began to scratch the surface, Merlin!" the physician exclaims irritably. "Sit over there and wait for Arthur, or do something else, but be  _quiet._  I need to concentrate."

()()()

"I can't believe this," the prince rants as he struggles with the lacing. "I'm  _female._  All because of that idiot. I'm going to wring his neck. Her neck." He pauses briefly. Are the others going to start referring to him as her? Because that'd be kind of ... confusing, and probably creepy, and he wonders if this is how Merlin feels because then it's legit she...he reacted like that earlier when they found him. Yes, maybe it's best if Arthur from now on refers to him as him, so Merlin takes less offence (he'd seen earlier at the dress shop how badly Merlin liked being called a lady).

"And Gwaine's neck too, and possibly Lancelot's too because he's the one who alerted us about the noise and if he hadn't we'd not found out that Merlin's a woman and then I'd not be in this mess!" By now his tone has risen, in annoyance and agony and thirst for revenge of this evil de _e_ d.

A voice filters through the door, muffled: "Arthur, are you talking to yourself?"

"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur shouts and the order is promptly ignored.

"Are you okay? Should I...come and help or anything?" The voice is slightly anxious. "Maybe I should-"

"No! I don't need any help, damn it! I told you to  _shut up_!"

For a few moments Merlin actually does as he's told and stays quiet. With a small sigh Arthur grabs the last fastening he can reach (there's still a mess of them at the back, out of reach) and tugs, hard, and then blinks in surprise when the thin lacing snaps in half.

"...Oh." This might be a problem.

His idiot manservant must have some sixth sense to detect such things, because the voice returns through the wood. "Arthur? What's taking you? It's been almost like half an hour now - you sure you don't need any help?"

"No!" Arthur is the prince of Camelot, a proud warrior and knight and the king's son - he does  _not_  need help to put on a piece of clothing! (Never mind the fact that Merlin helps him dress nearly every day. But that's different. Then his body is his own male one and he knows that body, is comfortable with it and has control over it. He's not sure what would happen if Merlin came to help him in this ... condition, even if the servant is in the same predicament.)

"Sure then. Whatever. Like I care."

A pause. And then, sharply after an intake of breath:

"Arthur?"

An annoyed growl escapes Arthur's throat. Somehow he manages to make a firm knot out of the split lacing, keeping it in place (kind of). "Yes, Merlin?"

"I...I'm sorry about this, I mean - it's mostly my fault it happened in the first place."

"No apologizes are going to fix this!"

"Yeah – I mean, no, no they won't, of course -"

"Merlin."

"Yes Arthur?"

"Shut up."

()()()

"There's still your father to be dealt with, sire. Merlin might be able to hide for a longer period of time, but you certainly cannot, especially since you are expected for " Gaius points out when Arthur reenters the main chamber.

"…Yes, breaking the news to him might be… _difficult_ ," says Arthur while unable to hinder a shudder course through his body.

At the sight of the prince-ess, Merlin springs up from the stool he's been sitting on, stumbling on the skirts nearly having forgotten about them and promptly would've fallen flat on his face if not for Arthur's convenient position by the bottom of the tiny steps. Instead he pulls them both down onto the floor in a heap of silks and curses. " **Mer** lin!" Arthur growls. "You clumsy fool!"

"Sorry. I just noticed that-"

"Yes, yes, whatever, Merlin. Help me up."

Whoever invented long skirts was an idiot. They're the most impractical thing Arthur's had to wear yet (albeit when Merlin is the wearer, Arthur's opinion might differ. Yes, differ a whole turnabout but – any adult would understand). The servant somehow manages to stand without falling over a second time and Arthur feels kind of weird looking at him then, when he's being pulled up grasping a pathetically thin pale wrist, but not weird in an entirely bad way.

Merlin nudges his arm.

"Arthur, you've put the dress on _backwards_."

"I've -  _Oh for the sake of_ …!" He didn't want to go through the whole dressing process  _again_! But it's either that or walking around looking a complete idiot. And the Crown Prince of Camelot will never,  _never_  go about looking like a simpleton!

"Do you – do you need help?" asks Merlin next, ears quickly going from white to red. "I promise I won't peek!"

Arthur's face flushes. It's not a big deal, he tells himself, Merlin's seen him in various state of undress before. Even if then, they both were male, and Merlin averts his eyes and blushes almost constantly. This won't be that different. Merlin won't  _deliberately_  look anywhere and he's, well, he's a she too now, so maybe he's got a point. Merlin has proven he can actually put on a dress. So, no big deal. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

"Why don't you change behind that screen over there?" says Gaius and points, before going back to the old tome he's reading.

Deep breaths. Merlin has breasts too now. So it's all right. Arthur goes behind the screen and Merlin follows and Arthur tries not to look at his servant's lovely flushed face.

"This fastening," the servant says uncertainly and tugs, and tugs again as the knot proves to be strong and stubborn. "Shouldn't it-"

One more tug and it comes free, and the next follow like a chain reaction and the fabric falls down. "You said you wouldn't look!" shrieks a terrified, flustered Arthur in a voice which is definitely not girly, or high-pitched, or anything else ridiculous. A tiny part of him might be proud and pleased though, that he's drawing Merlin's attention like this. Even if it's completely absurd and weird and strange and unprincely on so many levels.

"I'm not looking!"

"Yes you are!"

"Well, you looked at mine!"

"Did  _not_!"

"Yes, you did! That time when you found me, you wouldn't stop staring!"

"Boys," they hear Gaius' voice and are terribly stridently reminded of the fact that they're not alone.

Merlin twists his hands like he always does when he's nervous and averts his gaze. "Uhm. Just, turn around then." Arthur does, and then steps out of the dress and pulls it up after turning it as well, so the front is where it should be. It should've been easier with the fastenings with a person trying them rather than trying to do it by himself, but Merlin's hands aren't quite steady and it takes half an eternity before Arthur can step out from behind the screen. Putting the distance between them doesn't help slowing both the servant and the prince's racing pulse, and they both find their hands clammy with sweat.

"I, uh, will go speak with the knights," says Arthur. "And I need to face my father about this sudden ... Well. This."

Merlin fists the layered skirts around his thighs. "S-sure."

That moment Gaius chose to speak up again. "It'd be best, perhaps, if Merlin reveals his 'accident' as well; that will rule him out as a suspect."

"Yes," the prince agrees with a nod. It's logical because Merlin has been accused of sorcery god knows of many times and only escaped due to some odd stroke of luck, but there's no saying that the same luck would work for an umpteenth time, and Arthur is in no mood to wrestle his servant out of the dungeons again. And they can't have the King more paranoid than normal either.

Arthur turns to look at Merlin who stares back with wide eyes, frozen on the spot. "Well, come on, we haven't got all day!" Arthur cries, annoyed all of a sudden and tearing his eyes away from his servant, who looks quite lovely, and Arthur has this sudden urge to walk up and … No, he shouldn't think like that, not now and with Gaius's hawk eyes fixed on them!

Somehow he manages to adopt the most prattish expression he knows and rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "My father isn't going to  _eat_  you, Merlin."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Merlin murmurs darkly.

()()()

King Uther of Camelot stands up from his throne, eyes large and raging and voice like a cold winter's storm full of sharp hail as it echoes across the hall, making half of his subject wince. The other half are too busy gawking at the prince and manservant come princess and maidservant, who are standing in the centre of the giant hall awkwardly.

"SORCERY! WHOEVER DID THIS SHALL BURN!"

Ever the diplomat, Gaius puts in, "Milord, pixies are fickle creatures. They appear and disappear just as swiftly as the eye can blink. Capturing any of them might prove extremely difficult, perhaps even impossible."

"I DON'T CARE! IT'S  _SORCERY_! I DESPISE IT! FIND THE  _SORCEROUS_  BEINGS THAT HAVE PRACTICED THIS  _SORCERY_  AND BRING THEM BEFORE ME SO THEY CAN BE PUNISHED FOR THIS _SORCEROUS_  CRIME!"

"Yes, Your Highness, right away."

The knights, led by sir Bors, who have gathered closest to the throne can do little but bow their heads in respect and exchange glances and move to fulfill the order (there'd sure be betting tonight in the watch towers between the guards, sir Bors muses internally, about which one of them has the biggest chance to take a tumble in the hay with either of the newly appeared young ladies. They're quite lovely, albeit sir Bors thinks it best not to call Prince Arthur so in his – her? – face, lest he wants all of his body parts intact. Maybe Merlin would react better to such praise, but sir Bors wouldn't dare say it out loud when Prince Arthur is nearby. The Prince would have his head and possible other body parts too. It's safest not to try.)

()()()

Fifteen patrols are sent out, all with excellent trackers, hunters and knights among them, dispersed across the forests in search for the pixies. With them, they have hounds and nets and massive loads of tea. This huge an undertaking in searching for something hasn't been done since Arthur was six years old and had lost his beloved one-eyed teddy Ambrosius (Morgana still teased him about that) when out camping with his father.

In the meantime, Arthur (forbidden by his father to go) and Merlin (forbidden by Arthur to go – it's only fair.) have to wait in the prince's chambers for word of success, or failure, unsure if any cure can be found at all. Initially, they're still awkward and tense but then after two hours of silence they start talking and once they've begun, there's no stopping. For some reason Arthur finds it a little easier to talk in this female body. He's not sure why. Anyway, when nightfall creeps nearer they begun to grow really, really bored. They've tried chess (Arthur refused to play anymore because he lost) and already thrown Gwaine out twice. Morgana and Gwen had passed by to visit but Arthur felt so awkward around them right now he finally locked the door, ignoring Morgana's evil laughter from the other side.

Arthur orders another servant to fetch a meal and for a second time, Merlin gets to eat in the prince's chambers. He especially likes he sausages he steals from Arthur's plate and the prince's glare at that is only amusing. After dinner, the prince announces he wants to retire and Merlin moves toward the door, carrying a tray full of dirty plates and dishes.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Why don't you – why don't you stay here tonight." It's more of a statement than a question, not quite a demand either.

Merlin sends Arthur a strange look, forcing the prince to elaborate. "I'd rather not have Gwaine jumping on you in any corridor. Or in your room; I know how there are no safe locks. You can just leave that on the table and take it away in the morning," he adds and points at the tray which the servant puts down uncertainly.

"Uhm, thanks…I guess?" Merlin steps toward the prince. "But there's only one bed, where'll I sleep?"

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"You can't do that! You'll have a terrible crick in your neck in the morning. The bed's huge anyway. Why don't we share?"

Arthur's eyes bulges and his throat dry and he gets goosebumps allover when suddenly before his mind's eye flashes a series of images: pale flesh pressed against tanned, soft curves against his own, soft supple lips and wet tongues and –

"Err, Arthur? Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?"

A pair of fingers snaps in front of his face to gain his attention and Arthur comes back to reality with a start.

"What? Nothing. Nothing. We should get changed first. I should have some nightshirt you can borrow."

()()()

"This was the most stupid idea, ever," Arthur mutters to himself when after a few awkwardly quiet minutes Merlin's curled up and fallen asleep, steady deep breaths puffing against Arthur's chin. No matter the promise not to steal any pillows or the covers and stay on his side, the first thing Merlin does after closing his eyes is to snuggle up against Arthur's side comfortably and the prince hasn't the heart to push him off.

"Yes. Stupid, stupid idea."

… Albeit, something stirs inside him when Merlin sighs and presses up, soft breasts touching his own (weird thought) through the fabric of their nightshirts.  _Oh no. Oh no, bad thoughts, very bad thoughts! Don't think naughty thoughts right now, Arthur_! The prince mentally kicks himself. He knows enough about how the female anatomy works, to know how it react to these kinds of situations. And his body is eagerly starting to betray his mind, no matter how much he chants and swears in his head.

Apparently, Merlin's quite a vivid dreamer; he shifts so that one of his legs is crossing Arthur's thighs, and snuggles closer.

_Damnitdamnitdamnit. Get a grip, Arthur!_

(He doesn't want to get turned into a toad after all. Would Merlin do that if he found out that Arthur is hugging him back?)

It's going to be a very, very,  _very_  long night.

()()()

By some miracle, Merlin untangles himself just a few minutes before waking, and once back to conscious he's happy and oblivious and Arthur bites his lip to keep from bursting. He manages to give Merlin the order to dress properly and fetch breakfast, and Merlin does so, and Arthur buries his face in the pillows and tries to force himself to sleep, just to catch a few precious minutes of rest.

George chooses that moment to appear, and the smell of nice crisp bacon and tomatoes fill Arthur's nostrils.

"Good morning, sire – milady, I mean. Have you slept well, sire – milady?" asks the servant, kind of more awkward than usual.

"Put that over on the table." The servant complies, putting down the tray. "And no. Not very. And stop 'milady'-ing me!"

"Of course, mila— _sire_."

"And then you can muck out the stables." That'll keep him off for awhile. Just as the servant turns to leave, bowing and calling the prince sire for the eighth or ninth time (Arthur's lost count), Arthur stops him. "Wait! Has there been any word yet about the search?"

"No, sire, there's not been any, sire."

The prince curses on his breath.

When returning, Merlin brings a second full tray of food, and even when eating together they don't manage to empty both trays. The rest of the day is spent in much boredom, and they play chess over and over again and, since Merlin's had orders (from the King himself nonetheless! Maybe since the King thinks it might be dangerous for anyone to work after having a spell put on them like that) not to work, Arthur only has George to push around and that's not nearly as much fun as when he can push Merlin around.

Every three hours or so, Arthur asks for a report on the search, and the answer is always the same: 'No, no pixies in sight yet. No, Gaius hasn't found anything useful in his books yet. Yes, you're still a woman, sire.'

Each time, he and Merlin shares a pained look. Then they return, slightly crestfallen, to the game of chess (which Merlin wins repeatedly, much to Arthur's chagrin.)

Day turns slowly into night, and Arthur decides Merlin better spend the night here again, to avoid any unwanted attention from knights or anyone else, despite the things Arthur then has to endure. But Arthur will endure it: he's strong, a knight and prince and he's doing it to protect Merlin. He might have to ask Gaius to make him some sleeping potion if this goes on for too long, though.

()()()

It does go on.

For  _far_  too long.

Five days and eight hours, to be precise. Every night, Merlin stays and shares the bed, snuggling up like Arthur's a giant teddy bear. Every morning, Merlin untangles himself and wakes up completely oblivious that he's the cause for Arthur's sudden insomnia.

"Well?" the prince demands for the eighty-eight time when Gaius appears on the doorstep. The physician looks somber. But then he usually does.

"We have a solution."

Merlin jumps up. "Really? Seriously? It's not a joke or-"

"Merlin, stop jumping around like that, it's –  _distracting_ ," Arthur mutters and averts his gaze.

"Huh? What?"

"Nevermind." Arthur glares at Gaius who immediately stops giggling and adopts that serious Don't Mess With Me Or I'll Give You The Eyebrow-look again. "Put on some decent clothing at least."

The physician clears his throat. "Actually, sire … You both should do quite the opposite."

"WHAT?"

"Here, I found this book. Read it. The instructions are on page 42."

Begrudgingly Arthur accepts the script and eyes through the given page. There's a long recipe with weird stuff that apparently has to be carefully prepared and boiled on a rainy day (thank god they live in Camelot where it rains every second day) and then the victim, or victims, or a gender-shifting spell must bathe in it to regain their normal form. Yes, it clearly states they also must be unclothedsince fabric could disrupt the counter-magic  _… Unclothed!_  Damn it.

"Guard!" Arthur yells and immediately one appears in the doorway. "I want sir Gwaine, sir Leon, sir Percival and the rest but  _especially sir Gwaine_  locked in the dungeons until further notice. Come back to me with the key! And have the biggest bathtub you can find brought to my chambers. Oh, and bring me a turkey sandwich while you're at it."

The guard nods as if he's not at all surprised at any of these orders. At least he's not ogling either prince or servant, for which he receives plus points from Arthur.

"Right away, sire."

()()()

"We've got to what?" Merlin squeaks and pulls the towel closer around his naked body. Arthur struggles to avoid looking at it…so far to little avail.

"Just a quick dip and you'll back to normal," Gaius says in a calm neutral tone and not like he's ordering Merlin and Arthur to get into the tub. Together. While naked. While Arthur has this very, very strong urge to touch and to other things with Merlin. Thankfully the physician is standing with his back to them so he doesn't see the prince's red face.

"I've no idea what's in the tub, even," the servant says weakly. He thinks he just saw a goat's eye pop to the surface but didn't double check for his own sanity's sake. Merlin glances at Arthur, who looks very tense and red in the face and is breathing quickly, too.

"I've followed the recipe very closely and there's nothing harmful, I promise," Gaius says. He's getting impatient now. "Now get in before it gets cold, or I'll have to redo everything and that would be such a bother."

Arthur glances at Merlin, briefly. "I – you get in first."

"O-okay but, don't peek!"

When the towel drops, Arthur might peek … a bit … All right he doesn't peek, he stares, but he can't help it and Merlin stares back and then Arthur drops his own towel.

"Is the temperature of this room suddenly rising?" a surprised Gaius asks and immediately there's the sound of splashing water. For a moment there's silence, then, Arthur's voice – his normal male voice:

"Oh thank god it worked!"

Merlin only makes a very manly squeaking noise, especially when noting they're both still in the water, naked, together and that Arthur has a … rising problem at hand. (He might also be getting that).

"You said you wouldn't look!"

"Well you looked at me!" Arthur retorts.

"Obviously!"

"What do you mean 'obviously', you could have looked away!"

"So they're at it again," Gaius sighs as he walks out of the room and closes the door firmly to give the boys some privacy. "But at least they're back to themselves."


	35. Associate With Otherworldlers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: A Stargate Atlantis crossover._

The word of the finding of the strange Ring rushes through the city. One of the nightly patrols had found it, sitting by the foot of a hill, covered with foliage and dead leaves: they had returned in the morning and uncovered it. King Uther, suspicious and fearing it might be sorcery (naturally), sends his son along with some guards and Gaius to examine it.

"I've never seen anything like it," the physician muses when looking at the tall metal Ring. "These signs are unfamiliar to me."

"What about this device?" Arthur asks and points at the strange thing they've found some eight feet from the Ring; it's like a metal rock, with the same markings on it like the Ring, and a big blue button in the middle.

"No, I'm afraid I'm yet unable to answer what this is."

Merlin, who is standing on Arthur's right, flickers his gaze around the group and lowers his voice so that the guards won't hear. "Maybe it's magic," he murmurs and shares a glance with Arthur. The prince sighs. It probably  _is_  magic. And if Gaius cannot come up with another explanation, Uther will go into frenzy and heads will roll and the King will demand the Ring destroyed. Now how they're going to do that, Arthur doesn't know, since it looks rather stable. Gaius estimates it must've been standing here for many decades. The only reason it's not been discovered before is the dense dark forest around it, wherein both weird monstrous things (probably magic) and druids reside.

"Well, there's nothing more I can do from here," Gaius exclaims. "I must see if there are any writings on the Ring in the old records."

()()()

For three days, the physician searches for information while life goes on as normal for the inhabitants of Camelot (unusual findings and happenings aren't that, well, usual, and the people are used to it, and no one raises an eyebrow when the knights starts taking shifts at guarding the Ring).

Then, one of the knights, sir Bors, who's been guarding it, returns to the city in haste, his horse frothing when they finally come to a halt by the citadel gates. The man barges right into the council meeting and a nearly-falling-asleep-out-of-boredom Arthur almost falls off his chair (just almost though. Falling off a chair isn't princely or dignified).

"Sire! The Ring woke to life. Some kind of watery blue substance and light filled its centre!" sir Bors gasps.

" _Sorcery_!" King Uther spits from his tone, tone dark. "I want the device destroyed at once!"

Prince Arthur shares a quiet 'what'd I tell you'-look with his manservant.

"That is not all, your highness! Four strangers stepped through, dressed oddly and speaking of things we did not understand. Three of our men are left to guard the Ring, while the holding the strangers prisoners."

"Bring them to me!" says the King, "They must be sorcerers!"

Obviously.

()()()

The dungeon is dark, damp and depressing, as they are reminded by the whining of the man with thin brown hair and quite forthright manners. The man sighs loudly, which prince Arthur only can interpret as an insult and he scowls at the man. "Sorcery? Hah! Ridiculous. There's no such thing as magic, only you backwards people seem to think so; once, if you _ever_ , experience an industrial revolution-"

"Rodney!" says the man with dark hair and wearing some specters before his eyes, a bit like those Gaius has when reading, except these are bigger and black. He's obviously the leader, having introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Merlin wonders if that means he's some kind of knight or nobleman – he acts a lot like one, except maybe a bit less prattish than Arthur (but just a little). "Be nice to the 'backwards people' now."

"Pfft.  _Magic_!"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Look, I understand your reluctance of accepting your situation. But you stepped through the Ring by means we can only interpret as sorcery, and the king of these lands does not approve of such methods. For this there's only one punishment."

"It's  _science_!" cries Rodney angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you!"

"Really?" Merlin blurts out, kind of excited, because while these people seem quite odd they also seem nice and not that dangerous. And Merlin has always been curious. This kind of science seems a lot more exciting than the science Gaius does. "I've never seen science like that before! How does it work? Can you show me? Because Gaius' science never seems that interesting or-"

The prince is less than pleased at that. His manservant is meant to stand behind him and be quiet! "Merlin – shut up."

Rodney stiffens and frowns at the youth. "Merlin?" he asks.

"Yes?" the warlock says confused and stares wonderingly at Arthur when the prince grabs his arm and pulls him behind him. Have the strangers heard his name before? Was there something odd about it?

"Yes," says Arthur irritably now, "that's my manservant's name. Now, what is your business in Camelot?"

"As we've said, we are explorers. We come to trade," says John.

"We come in peace," interjects the woman, Teyla, whom Arthur finds a bit fascinating. Dressed in the same kind of uniform as her companions, like a man! But at least she has manners and the right way of speech; she is probably a lady of higher status, a diplomat, perhaps a leader albeit not of this group.

"The kingdom you speak of, Atlantis, is unfamiliar to us," Arthur says.

"So you've never seen anyone or  _anything_  come through the Stargate – the Ring – before now? At all?  _Ever_?" the scientist demands. "Because that makes  _no sense_. All worlds in this galaxy before now with a Gate on the planet surface has had at least elementary knowledge of it and its uses for planetary travel, not to mention the Wraith-"

"Wraith?" exclaims Merlin. Oh no! There couldn't be more out there, could there?

(The prince sends him an odd look. Merlin figures he should tell him about the incident with Dubois and the making of Excalibur in more detail.)

"Yes, Wraith. You know, pale vampire like things, sucking your life out of their hands…?"

His words are only met by confused and darkened faces. Momentarily Arthur silences, deep in thought. If such creatures are common in the kingdom of Atlantis and the other … worlds … that these people have visited, then what if they found their way here? The prince wasn't sure if he should take them seriously, at least at first, but they all  _sound_ sincere. They aren't lying; at least that's what Arthur's gut is telling him.

"All right. Say I believe you," he says at last, "but I cannot promise you freedom. My father, the King, is very … adamant, and it will be difficult to persuade him of your innocence."

Rodney looks at him weirdly.

"Hang on – king? His name wouldn't be Arthur would it?"

The guards and the prince nearly choke in surprise and Merlin hides a grin at the reaction. "No. No. That is  _my_  name. I'm Prince Arthur Pendragon." His eyes narrow then, in suspicious once again. "How could you know my name without having known of Camelot beforehand?"

"Oh, we know of Camelot, all right," says the leader, John, in an nearly absurd tone. "It's kind of famous where we come from." He looks over Arthur's shoulder, at Merlin, receiving a heated glare from the prince at that.  _No one_  looks at his Merlin like that!

"Look," John continues, "we only want to go back home, never harm anyone. Can't we have a chat with you King and I'm sure we'll come to an agreement."

()()()

"Look, I know you're probably not very happy about our coming here, but we're not going to hurt anybody. In fact we mean to go home through the Gate as soon as we can."

"Sire," inserts Gaius diplomatically, "by giving them allowance home, we could work toward peace with their people, whom I believe possess some very strong weaponry. Executing them could lead to war."

King Uther will not see reason, as always when it comes to magic, of course. "I will not allow it! Who let this  _sorcerer_  stand before me? Take him back to the dungeons! I want the stake burning at dawn!"

"Oh crap," mutters the man, when he's dragged away. "Rodney will  _so_  not be happy to hear this."

()()()

As foretold, the brown haired man goes into hysterics when hearing about the law Which Demands the Execution of Everyone Magic (or strange or that the King doesn't like). "What? Burn at the stake? No!  _No_! Everyone here's fucking  _crazy_!"

"Relax, Rodney," drawls the dark-haired one. "Our check-up dialing is two hours late, so Elizabeth has understood something is wrong and backup is probably sent any moment now."

"Relax? How can I  _relax_  when they're preparing to kill us all? How can you be so  _laidback_?"

"I believe the Colonel is right," says the woman. "It is better for us all if we remain calm. Prince Arthur seems to understand our predicament and seemed like a good man; he'll try to free us."

()()()

After five hours in a dark cell you get kind of bored. John flinches awake at the sharp sound of footsteps and a torch materializes in the hallway.

"Change of plans," Arthur grunts out. "Merlin," he says, "do it. Hurry before the guards wake up!"

The servant's eyes glow gold and the lock to the cell clicks and the door opens, to the astonishment of the prisoners. "Did you just-" says Rodney in a disbelieving voice.

"I think he did," says John in a drawl. Both of them are being ignored by Arthur and Merlin.

"Are the horses ready?" demands the prince.

"Uhm. No. I sort of … forgot about it until it was too late? There were so many guards!"

Arthur glares at him and Merlin twitches nervously. "Damn it, Merlin…!"

"But…I have a plan."

"A plan?" the prince raises an eyebrow at him.

He nods, once and then one more time a bit more eagerly. "Yes. Actually it's an  _awesome_  plan."

()()()

They sneak up to one of the towers. The sky is dark and without stars or moonlight, which is only helpful right now, and Merlin calls out with his mind – not daring to do it aloud. He's used a mild sleeping spell on the guards. He dislikes doing it, but they don't want to get caught. The King would have a fit.

"So what's the plan?" John asks quietly.

"Well, it involves some flying," Merlin answers vaguely and the man's face lights up.

"Flying? That's something I can do."

"What? Oh  _no_ ," moans the scientist. "Flying is awful. It only makes you  _sick_  and dizzy (unless it's on the Deadalus or on a jumper, with proper dampeners). Does it have dampeners? I swear, Sheppard, if you do anything like you would a F-302 I'm going to—"

"Oh relax, Rodney, it's gonna be fine."

After some agonizing minutes of waiting (it's difficult to make Rodney keep quiet) a large form materializes in the distance and quickly closes in, huge wings beating the air and then a heavy body lands on the top of the tower. The stone creaks and a couple of roof plates to falls down, ripped off by large claws, causing Arthur to wince.

"That's your plan? It's an  _idiotic_  plan!" the prince hisses at Merlin.

"It's a plan that'll save their lives!" the warlock retorts.

Teyla, Ronon and John stand there out of words. Rodney gapes at the thing, for a moment, before managing to find his voice: "Is this some freakish dream?"

"No, you are very much conscious, little man," booms the dragon's voice.

"No time for a chat – we must leave now!" cries Merlin and Teyla, followed by Ronon and John, carefully climbs up to settle on the Kilgarrah's back. It takes some coaxing to get Rodney up as well and once he's finally up there, he clings to John Sheppard, who's sitting in front of him, like a lifeline.

"You better not make me fall off!" he cries.

Probably just to annoy him the great dragon shifts and the man would've slid off if not for his iron grip on the colonel's vest.

"Behave yourself," Merlin chides and Kilgarrah chuckles.

"Where to then, Dragonlord?"

"There's a glade a few miles off, with a giant metal ring. You can leave them there."

"I know of it."

Merlin turns to John, who's the leader of the strangers. "Sorry we couldn't get your weapons and other equipment, but they were too heavily guarded and we didn't want to raise too much suspicion."

Rodney snorts, "And a dragon won't?" echoing exactly what Arthur's thinking. He has to come up with a good explanation for this to tell his father in the importing. Maybe he could say there was a terribly windy storm which destroyed some of the roof and made awful noise, like thunder, expect there was no rain (maybe Merlin could make some rain, though). The guards were knocked unconscious by the strong wind. Yes. Sound legit.

"It's all right," John drawls in that odd accent. "I'd say we'd drop by later to get them but now I don't think so. You're free to come visit though. Your magic would be really useful against the Wraith."

That sounds good, actually. Not the fighting bit, but visiting. Seeing Atlantis – hadn't they said something about it being a floating city? Merlin smiles at the man completely ignorant of how infuriated Arthur looks behind him.

"Yeah, maybe one day." The warlock backs a bit and waves as the dragon prepares for lift-off. "Good luck!"

And the dragon takes off, none in Camelot the wiser.

()()()

Once the strangers have gone, for good hopefully, Arthur pulls Merlin down from the ledge like the warlock was an insolent puppy, shaking him by the scruff of his neck. "Why'd you talk to them? It's stupid and ridiculous, and treacherous. They're some kind of otherworldlers and obviously cannot be trusted."

"They were nice people, just a bit weird," Merlin protests. His words are ignored, naturally.

"We're not speaking of this again. If anyone asks, we were out hunting while the strangers escaped using magic. The Ring should be buried at once so that they won't return, or that those Wraiths come here."

"Yeah, that's probably the best," Merlin agrees but can't contain a sad sigh; he'd really like to know more and see this Atlantis, and learn about science and prove Rodney wrong about magic. But Arthur's right. If those Wraiths found their way to Camelot the King would go absolutely  _berserk_.

()()()

 _I wonder, though, why they were so surprised about Kilgarrah,_  the warlock thinks, later that night, when back in his own chambers and wrapped in his favourite blanket (it'd taken a while to get Arthur off his back, the prat kept nagging about how annoying otherworldlers were and that he needed to be more careful, but Merlin thinks he's been awfully careful as of late – nobody noticed the dragon at all!). He's got to explain to Gaius in the morning what's happened. His guardian won't be pleased but Merlin will deal with that when it comes.

_I thought John mentioned he likes to fly…_


	36. Get Captured by Lunatic People During Important Quests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning for this chapter: Monty Python. That is all._

When Merlin wakes up the shadows are yet dark in the corners, and a hand is shaking his shoulder, a voice persistently tugging at his ear. To no avail he tries to wave them both off.

"Wake up, lad."

"…Ugh. Gaius?" The servant glances up from the pillow, wincing when the candlelight is too bright and sudden for his sleep-drunken gaze. The physician looks kind of worried, that anxious frown across his temple which makes Merlin uneasy. What's happened now? Has Arthur been enchanted? Or the king? Has some hell-bent-on-revenge dark mad sorcerer entered the caste and tried to burn down the stables? Or has Arthur done something prattishly stupid again like trying to leave in the middle of night and save some damsel in distress?

Merlin really, really hopes it's not the latter. Arthur's got an ego big and is prattish enough as it is, and the warlock doesn't like it that much when Arthur rides out and saves damsels in distress - any damsels really that isn't him - not that Merlin is a damsel that needs saving, or riding after. Well, maybe Gwen he'd accept if she's in trouble and Arthur wants to save her, but that's different, they're friends and now Merlin seriously is losing train of thought.

"Whaa...?"

"It's right before dawn," Gaius informs him. "You need to help the prince with the packing."

"…Packing? … Packing." Merlin says, confused before remembering: "Oh. Oh  _no_. Not another of those  _quests_." With a pained groan he buries his face in the pillow and Gaius reminds him, again, he has to get up, he's Arthur's servant and has to wake before him and blah blah blah, before the old man leaves the room, probably to catch some more sleep or mix some potion. Merlin wishes  _he_  could do that - not the potion, but the sleep.

Half an hour later an annoyed prince barges loudly into the chamber. "Merlin!" he bellows on the top of his lungs, probably waking half of the city. "Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting forever! I had to dress myself and my best boots are missing and I can't find the saddlebags, why've you left me waiting for so long you incompetent idiot!"

Merlin blinks up at the red-faced, panting man from where he's trying to hide beneath the covers. "You dressed all by  _yourself_? What an  _achievement_ , sire. I'm seriously  _impressed_."

"No one likes your sarcasm this early in the morning,  **Mer** lin!" Arthur retorts and throws something at him, which lands on the bed and across Merlin's knees with a thud. A crossbow, a half-filled pack and one of Arthur's old furred travelling cloaks, which he eventually has given to Merlin (or let him "borrow" - the prat would never admit to  _giving_  something away, Morgana would never stop teasing him) since his manservant has for months complained about the cold and wet, about the dark forests and how he almost always freezes his feet off and other miserable things that's included when travelling. And the cloak means only one thing -  _one dreadful thing_.

Arthur doesn't mean to go on some short trip around the neighborhood and shoot a hare and say hello to some farmers by the city outskirts and be back by nightfall. No, he's planning on a month-long journey god knows where and he'll drag Merlin through rain and cold mud and creepy forests. And the warlock will be busy trying to keep his toes warm and not have Arthur killed. Yep.  _Wonderful._  Maybe he could feign a terrible illness or something and thus convince Arthur not to go?

It's worth a shot so Merlin tries to look at pale and pathetic as possible and coughs weakly.

"Well, come on!" the prince orders, lively like he's planned an outing to a theme park. "The Grail's not going to wait for your lazy backside!"

Right, so, maybe not.

()()()

They've been walking for half a day when they run into the first trouble.

Yes, walking, because for some reason, all horses were either being used already, or needed to be re-shoed or simply were too tired to be ridden – the stables were completely void of any of them. No matter how much Merlin had complained and pouted, they had found no other option than to walk. (Though Percival had offered to give him a piggyback ride, but then Arthur intervened and said there was no carrying to be done, except possibly by himself only - not that he cared about carrying anyone since he's a prat - and Merlin had sighed then and given up because he couldn't let Arthur go on this stupid Quest  _without_  him. Then the prince would get himself killed.)

After a couple of miles Gwaine also finds some things he calls 'coconuts' which he had come across before, in his earlier less knightly days, and happily demonstrates how to use them to make the same sound has hoof beats, giving the illusion to any eventual incoming enemies that they're riding and thus are kind of dangerous - which of course Arthur thinks it's completely ridiculous. In Gwaine's own opinion it's quite a neat trick. (Some weird arguments about nuts and swallows and riding arise, and Merlin ignores them from then on and has a nice conversation with Percival and Leon about flowers instead. Much more interesting and well-mannered.)

But, six-odd hours after they first set out, Merlin's feet are aching and he wonders if any of the knights still have the energy to hunt or if dinner tonight will have to be composed by only bread and cheese. He'd really like some venison. Maybe he could make doe eyes at Percival and …

His thoughts, however, are cut short when Arthur suddenly tenses up, raising his hand in an abrupt gesture and everyone stops, causing the servant to walk right into the prince's back.

"Huh? Why've we stopped? Are we there yet?"

"Be quiet!" Arthur hisses on his breath and grabs Merlin's arm, pulling him behind him before the servant can protest, into the centre of the group. The knights move to draw weapons when suddenly a voice cuts through the trees:

"You cannot pass this forest." A man materializes on top of the slope, surrounded by a number of similarly clad men, with chainmail and white tunics.

"Excuse me?" Arthur says. "I'm the Crown Prince of Camelot and these are my knights; sir Lancelot, sir Gwaine, sir Percival, sir Elyan and sir Leon and my faithful servant Merlin. We are on a greatly important quest. You  _will_  let us pass."

"No. We cannot," says the man stubbornly.

"Why? Have you a claim on these lands?"

Merlin is pretty sure they've not crossed the border yet. He leans closer to Percival and murmurs under his breath, "Do you think there's any other way around?" since the knight's traveled pretty much everywhere - unlike Gwaine who's only traveled to places that has a tavern.

In response the giant man shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

The speaker nods at Arthur. "We  _do_  have claim. For we are the Knights of Ni, and to allow you to pass you must fulfill our …  _demands_ – lest we'll have to  _punish_ you." The word is heavy with foreboding and Arthur's hand around his sword hilt tightens.

"Demands?" the prince narrows his eyes at them. The men in white tunics are all wearing swords at the belt, and might prove to be fierce fighters. And as they appear to be knights (albeit he's never heard of this 'Ni' - it must be a faraway kingdom), Arthur would like to avoid any battle with them, since it could cause problems in the future - they already have enemies enough has it is.

"Sire," Lancelot says quietly on his left, "it'd be best if we agreed to their terms. I've traveled far and have heard of the Knight of Ni, and they have a … dangerous reputation."

"All right, let's hear it, what are your demands?" Arthur says in a 'I'm-not-very-impressed'-tone.

"You will fetch us a shrubbery!"

"A …  _what_?" the prince asks stupidly. He's been expecting a fight or demands for gold or information or – something else  _logical_. The man who'd spoken the order gives the prince a look as if he's a prathead and Merlin has to stifle a giggle beneath his hand.

"A shrubbery!" the speaker repeats.

"A nice one!" interjects a high-pitched voice from the left.

"Or else, we shall punish you with  _the Curse of Ni_!" The words are dark and luminous and Merlin stops chuckling as soon as the words make contact with his eardrums, eyes going wide and his magic bubbles up, ready to be used in case of attack. He's insanely curious whatever the men wants a shrubbery for, it's the start of a giant forest after all and there are no gardens in sight; surely they must be pleased with the greenery around them. Or maybe they just want some variation.

Arthur stiffens.  _A curse_  … That doesn't bode well. He can't help himself, glancing to his right where his servant stands. He can't take that kind of risk with the servant here; perhaps, were Merlin safely back at Camelot, he'd have taken the chance and thrown down his gauntlet by the stranger's feet, supported by his knights, but if the man possesses some form magic and can  _curse_  them…oh, he shouldn't have dragged him with them!

Merlin senses his gaze and raises an eyebrow not-so-subtly and Arthur shakes his head at him, hoping the idiot understands it means  _"let me do the talking and don't do anything stupid now"._

"Very well," the prince proclaims solemnly, "we shall fetch you a shrubbery. A nice one," he adds, at seeing the warning look one of the men sends him.

Accepting the answer, the speaker nods and the Knights of Camelot backs off a bit to talk without being overheard.

"Sire, such a thing could be dangerous!" sir Leon says. "Who knows what lurks out there. Nightfall is nearly upon us."

"We need to cross this forest," Arthur answers in his immovable, princely manner and that's the end of discussion.

"But where are we going to find a shrubbery?" asks Merlin. "I'm tired and hungry and I'd really, really like a warm fire right now, I feel like my feet are going to fall off…"

Immediately the knights swarm around him offering both jackets and cloaks and thick leather boots, all of them shaken off by an annoyed prince who announces: "You and Leon can stay here and make a fire, we need to camp anyway. The rest of us will search for a shrubbery and bring it back to the Knights of … Ni."

As soon as he gets his hands on a map he'll take a moment to find out where in Albion exactly Ni is situated.

()()()

"Shrubbery? It's been good business all up till a couple of years ago, an economic crisis the traders say," says the weather-worn man with a pair of old hedge-scissors in his hands. "There's no one who wants to pay for shrubberies anymore."

Arthur tries his best to act if it's not completely abnormal that a ragged-looking man would be selling shrubberies in the middle of nowhere. Actually it's just about half a mile northwest of the place where they'd encountered the Knights of Ni, and the prince wonders why on earth they then just couldn't fetch a shrubbery themselves.

"Well, we'll pay, as long as it's a nice shrubbery," the prince says. "And as long as it isn't too expensive!"

"What'd you expect, a royal discount? Nah, nah, that won't happen in  _my_  shop," says the man stubbornly, and an argument ensues in which heated words are thrown both ways.

Eventually Elyan intervenes, offering some of the coins he's kept in his pocket (he'd meant to melt them down and forge something pretty with them, he's starting to grow tired of just making horse-shoes and swords. Especially since for some reason Percival drops by every second week asking for a new weapon, claiming his old one's broken or that he's given it away as a gift, and Elyan can't convince him that swords mightn't be the best token of affection. A bracelet is better, or a nice necklace.)

At last they've got their hands on a shrubbery and together, carrying it as if it's a most valued treasure, they bring it back to the Knights of Ni who looks gleefully at the thing and announces that they can pass. By that time Merlin's feet have warmed a bit by the tiny fire on the other side of the glade and they are ready to set off, full of energy at this achievement.

(Lancelot says something about going back and buying a second shrubbery though, for Gwen; maybe she'd have liked it.)

()()()

Another forest to cross; another long trek in which Merlin barely can keep quiet his complaints which are all now justified; another cry of "You shall not pass this forest!" that rings out so loud and suddenly that the knights nearly jump straight into a thorn bush.

"Who's there?" cries Arthur, tugging Merlin behind him. "Show yourself!"

A man clad entirely in black steps out onto the path, armed and with a dark crest on his battle-worn blood-splattered tunic. A helmet is covering his face. The Black Knight waves his sword at them dangerously. "You!" he cries, pointing at Arthur. "Let us do battle. I shall defend this road with my life!"

The Crown Prince of Camelot would never back down from a fight, so he responds to the confrontation with a warrior's fervor and conviction. "I accept your challenge, sir knight!"

Gwaine takes seat by a large tree root. "Let's watch!" he says and pats his knees. "Merlin, d'you want to sit in my lap? There'll be a  _great view_  and very  _comfortable_ ," he offers which Merlin thinks is very kind and he smiles at the knight about to say yes, but Arthur doesn't agree because he loudly proclaims, "No, Merlin  **will not**  sit in your lap. Or in  **any**  lap except **mine.**  And since he can't do that right now, when I'm fighting, he'll sit  _right_   _here_  instead." The prince spreads his cloak like a blanket on the ground, stubbornly glaring until Merlin takes seat, and not letting anyone sit right beside him, and that's the end of discussion – again.

So they gather in a circle around the two combatants, and Arthur draws his sword and grabs his shield. The fight starts out evenly. Both men are skilful fighters, but after half a minute or so, Arthur has gained the advantage and is driving the Black Knight into a corner. However, the disguised man is obstinate, refusing to give up and Merlin is worrying his bottom lip (what if Arthur does some reckless move now and gets hurt? Oh god  _he will_ , because he's such a prat and then Merlin'll have to use some spell to get him out of it).

"Ha! Coward! Come at me!" The Black Knight waves his sword, which he's holding with his right hand, and moves toward Arthur, who easily sidesteps and aims a second blow.

Suddenly, Arthur lunges forward as if to cleave the other man in two from head to toe. The Knight moves aside, so that Arthur's original plan fails, but holds his left arm outstretched so that it takes the full blow.

The audience draws a sharp breath.

"Missed!" cries the Knight and if not wearing that helmet, Arthur is sure he'd see the man make ridiculous faces at him. Naturally, Arthur takes offence, and he's annoyed now, how can anyone be so – so  _stubborn_? Any other man would've given up by now!

"'Missed'? How can you say that! I just  _cut off your bloody arm!"_

"So?"

The prince shakes his head and attacks again, resulting in the loss of the Knight's  _other_  arm, and the sword drops heavily on the ground. Leon picks the weapon up for closer inspection ("Ruddy handiwork, but maybe Elyan could upgrade it.").

"Silly-nilly, fight me!" The Knight tries to kick the Prince, who just stares at him.

"You have  _no arms._ You're hardly fit to fight!"

"It's just a flesh wound. Now, are you a man, or a chicken, Prince of Dork-a-lot?"

No one with their sanity intact would  _ever_  say such a thing to the Prince of Camelot - especially not if you  _haven't_  got all of your limbs intact. The furious face of Arthur's is rather amusing, albeit not to Merlin; he's just tired of the prince making such a prat of himself and finding enemies everywhere he goes. Now he's got to polish his sword  _again_.

Merlin shakes his head and shares a word with Lancelot: "This whole quest is starting to get ridiculous."

"Yes, quite," says Lancelot just as Arthur completely and fully without any doubt defeats the Black Knight, who's now been reduced to a torso and … well, just a torso. Merlin wonders how the man's not bleeding dry; maybe it's magic, or some medical miracle – Gaius really would've liked to know.

"Come on, let's go. Let's put as much distance as we can from this strange man," says Arthur, hefting his sword and grabbing Merlin's wrist, tugging him along. The rest of the company follows suit and disappear among the greenery, leaving behind a quite disappointed Black Knight.

"Hey, come back and finish the fight! Hey, coward!  _Coward_!"

()()()

So they trek along further on the path and reach a river. It's wide and wild but fortunately there's a stone bridge, old and weathered; Arthur and his band of merry men (err, wait, not so merry anymore, after all this walking and no Grail in sight. But they're a band of men, at least) approaches it relieved that at least their feet won't get any wetter. For some reason there's an old man in gray cloak standing there on the riverbank and a queue of travelers has formed, and they're all impatiently waiting and stomping their feet. Arthur, unsurprisingly, pushes past them all to stand first in line.

The old man holds up his hands in a Stop right there! _-_ motion. "You shall not pass this bridge!"

"Oh no, not  _again_ ," sighs a very tired Merlin.

"You will let us pass!" demands Arthur with all the authority he can muster, albeit he too is running out of patience. "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot."

"I am the Keeper of the Bridge. To cross it, you must answer  _three_  questions," the man says, explaining: "Three, not two, nor five, or even eleven – no, three, purely that number – three questions, and no other number of questions-"

"Yes, yes, yes  _we get it_!" shouts Merlin, aggravated, making wild gestures with his hands and completely ignoring the wide eyes he receives from the knights and prince at the sudden aggression. (The man better not be full of riddles like the dragon!) "Just ask the stupid questions!"

"Yes. The questions," the man says solemnly, steps a bit closer, first to face the prince who looks stoic and princely, as usual. "The questions. We begin with the first question. The first, not second or third - the first. What is the number of questions that I shall ask you from now on, after asking you this first question?"

"…Two. Yes, since that was the first question, and three minus one is two," answers Arthur after a slight pause.

"You figured that out all by yourself?" asks Merlin with mock-wide eyes and ducks just in time to avoid being hit over the head.

"That is the correct answer," says the Keeper approvingly and Arthur allows himself a smug grin.

One of the people in the queue seemingly doesn't like the fact that the prince and warlock has moved to stand first in line, despite being the last to arrive, and shoves Arthur's shoulder. "I was here first! Give me the next question so I can pass!"

The old man nods slowly. "The second question. The second question is important." He pins the person down with a steady gaze. "What is your favourite colour?"

"Purple."

Abruptly an invisible force grabs the speaker and lunches him off the bank, down into the dark abyss of the cold swirling river.  _"No! I meant yelloooow!"_  echoes a pained voice before there's a great splash below.

Gasping in horror Arthur grabs Merlin and pulls him back, closer to himself, ignoring the weird look the servant sends him. "Be careful!" he hisses. "Don't stand that close to the ledge!" The prince's pulse unwillingly speeds up in fear; will that be their fate if they fail to answer the questions correctly?

"Now. The final question. The third question – third, not second, or first – the third." The old man turns back to Arthur. "Say you have a coconut, from a foreign continent, but it had not been carried to Albion by travelers or traders, but a number of birds since it's not possible for the coconut to have traveled here by itself. How many swallows would you then need to carry a coconut all this way?"

Arthur opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by Merlin, who is kind of confounded as some vital facts are missing from this question for it be properly answered. "What kind of swallows? European or African swallows?"

"I – I don't know." And so the old man is tugged off the bank and down into the river, leaving the bridge open and free for anyone to pass. A relieved sigh is heard from the queue, and they all walk over the bridge as one.

"What a stupid question," mutters Arthur on his breath, and they continue onward.

()()()

Merlin thinks at this moment, when they've finally crossed the stupid forest, that they must be near to finding the Grail now (whatever that is: he might've snoozed through that particular council meeting) and go home, to a proper bed, with proper food and a hot bath. Mm, a hot bath …

Of course he shouldn't have thought so.  _Of course not._

It is at this moment, that they come across wide hill and at its top is an old castle. The large doors are closed and none can be seen by the window. "Sire," suggests Leon, much to Merlin's relief, "it's been a long day. Perhaps we could seek shelter here."

"Yeah, I second that!" exclaims Gwaine and starts making noise with the coconuts again. So, deciding on this, the knights, prince and servant approaches the castle, with Gwaine hitting the coconuts together despite (or maybe because of) Arthur's constant complains of that he might go insane at the noise.

Suddenly a two heads peek over the edge of the wall, over the gates. "Who'z there?" a voice cries out in an odd accent.

"It is I, Prince Arthur of Camelot, some of my Knights of the Round Table and my servant Merlin," answers Arthur. "We seek shelter for the night."

"Do you bring 'orses?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow, not that the men can see that being so high up on the wall. "No, we don't bring any horses."

"But it z _ounded_  like you're bringing 'orses," says the voice suspiciously.

"Naw, it's only my coconuts," explains Gwaine and holds the two halves up for them to see, and then claps them together making clop-cloppeti-clop noises as a demonstration. "See?"

"Coconuts?" exclaims the second person on the wall, also with a nasal accent. " _Pas possible_! Coconuts come from zee African continent, that iz a very long way, and they cannot migrate on their own – and we don't have traders going there,  _non, ce n'est pas_  logical _._ "

"Perhaps they were carried, by migrating birds. Like swallows," suggests Percival.

"Swallows? Are you silly, little man? European swallows cannot carry the weight of a coconut. You'd need three, four of them and who'd get them to cooperate?"

"What about African swallows? They'd be able to carry that, even though alone," says Lancelot confidently.

"But they do not come this far north,  _non non non_. They do not like zee rain. And how do you know about them anyway, since they have never been 'ere?"

"Uh," answers the knight uncertainly, for he truly was not sure where he'd heard this: it might be a loose rumour from the street, something he's picked up on his travels before knighthood.

The first speaker cuts in, "Where did you say you come from again?"

"Camelot.  _Cam-e-lot_ ," repeats Arthur now a tad bit annoyed (are they slow or something? They need to get inside before it starts raining and Merlin's feet get cold!).

"Camelot? Englishmen! No, we won't have you here, no. Go away! Leave!"

"Why?"

"Because you're  _Englishmen_!"

"Pray tell, what is that?" asks the Prince who has never heard the word before.

"What you  _are,_  you nit-pickle! Englishmen, Britons, Cameloteans, same difference! Get out our zight! Your father's a hamster and your mother smelt of elderberries! I fart in your general direction!"

"I think that was an insult, sire," adds Leon unnecessarily.

This, naturally, starts a quite lively discussion and things getting thrown over the wall in attempt to drive the prince and his men away. (Involving stones, swallows and cows. Nothing could be more irrelevant.) Arthur really didn't like the way these people (the French, he believes Leon called them) are treating them. They're coming as guests, after all, not about to attack or anything!

Enough is enough. There's only that much a man can take before he must strike back. When a crossbow falls and lands on Leon's head with a thud, causing the knight to cradle the offended piece of weaponry muttering about 'Poos mistreatment of lovely crossbows, indeed', Arthur draws his sword.

"Enough!" he shouts. "Stop your insults and let us in, or we'll storm your castle!"

The attackers don't stop, as expected.

"Er, sire," murmurs sir Elyan, "is that really wise? We're only six armed men, against a whole castle—"

Meanwhile, Merlin thinks they're all being ridiculous. They'd better just move away a bit and make camp, even if the cold damp ground isn't that inviting, it's better than sharing a roof with these lunatics. So he starts backing off to do just that, he saw a pile of wood not far from here and a fire sounds very nice.

But a then, all of a sudden, a large fishing net falls over the wall and envelops him. Before he can react, the Frenchman holding the other end of the rope starts pulling and no matter how he struggles against the net, he just won't get out.

 _Why me?_  Merlin wonders miserably.  _Why do I have such terribly bad luck? Why not somebody else, like Leon, or Percival?_  They _never get into troubles like these._

"Ha! In your faces, Englishmen! We've now got a captive!" And as soon as they've hauled a startled Merlin over the wall, the French start making a victory dance.

"Merlin! MERLIN!" shouts Arthur in panic and then in anger, face twisting in fury. "Let him go you bastards!"

"Na-na-na-na! Come try, silly Englishman!"

Arthur growls like an animal, fists tightening. Abruptly he turns to his knights, who share his darkened expression. "We've got to take the French's castle and rescue Merlin."

"We could siege them!" suggests Gwaine and curses the French with venom in his voice.  _Nobody_  lays a finger his best friend's head without consequence.

"Yes!" agrees the other knights, voiced by Leon. "We're few but if we built some kind of  _weapon_ …an element of surprise…" They huddle close behind a large boulder, pulling out from their pockets what items are at their disposal and spread them on the ground: a few knives, a map, some cheese and bread, two silver coins and a piece of rope. "If we take them at nightfall -" says Arthur, but is cut off by a slightly anxious voice from above their heads:

" _NIGHTFALL?_  NO! YOU'VE GOT TO HELP ME  _NOW_  YOU PRAT!"

"All right, not nightfall,  _as soon as possible_ then," hurries the prince to correct himself and adds, louder: "Don't worry Merlin, we'll rescue you!"

"ALL RIGHT, I'LL BE WAITING RIGHT HERE THEN!"

Arthur turns back to his men. "Any ideas?"

The knights look at each other, thinking hard. Very hard. After a few silent minutes, Leon's eyes suddenly light up. "Actually, I think I've got a plan…"

()()()

Merlin bites his nails impatiently. "What's taking them so long…? They should be here by now!"

He hopes they're not planning on something extremely stupid, that'll get the hurt, though. Really, the French aren't that bad or even dangerous. They're just so terribly _misunderstood_ , that's all (maybe it's those weird dishes which they're now trying to make him eat).

()()()

The plan involves some … constructing, so they withdraw back under the shadow of the trees. Just before walking out of sight, Arthur hears a voice over the wall:

"ARE YOU PLANNING ON RESCUING ME?"

"Yes, Merlin, don't worry!" the prince calls back. "We've got a plan!"

"OH, ALL RIGHT … THAT'S GOOD."

Conveniently they find an axe and saw and some nails and two hammers. Perfect. Now they can get started!

The plan is rather awesome, in Arthur's opinion. Even if the construction is both loud and large, and none of the knights will be swayed, for they are convinced that their master plan will work, and they won't let the French get away with insulting their honour or intelligence – and definitely not get away with taking Merlin from them!

After a surprisingly short amount of time (about ten or fifteen minutes) they're ready and start pulling the giant construction (they added wheels for convenience's sake) toward the castle. Albeit it's a very awesome plan, Arthur still isn't sure what the thing is supposed to imitate.

"A  _donkey_ ," clarifies Lancelot (for the third time) as they approach the gray stone walls.

"Reminds a bit of you, actually, don't it princess?" says Gwaine and once ducks just in time to avoid getting smacked on the head. But how could anyone have resisted saying it?

The prince is  _not_  in the mood for jokes. "Be serious will you! They've got Merlin!"

"YES, COULD YOU PLEASE GET ON WITH RESCUING ME NOW?"

"We're on it, Merlin! Hang in there!"

Making a few final adjustments, they place the giant donkey right in front of the castle gates, before knocking loudly on said gates and then sneaking off to hide behind a rock. Then, apprehensively, they wait and watch as the French slowly open the gates: muttering about a _cadeau_  they inspect the donkey and start pulling it inside. Once it is, the doors close again with a heavy thud and a lock is snapped into place.

"What now?" hisses Arthur to Leon.

"Well, once the donkey is inside, Lancelot, Percival and I will jump out of it, swords at the ready. The French will be completely unprepared! And then we'll … What? What's with that weird face?"

"You complete and utter  **buffoon**! You never said that anyone was supposed to be  **inside**  it!"

"… Oh. Oops." The knight looks terribly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to forget about that, sire, I really, really didn't."

Tearing at his hair in despair and wailing like a man about to face doom in bitter frustration, Arthur buries his face in his hands. This is so, so unfair.

"WHERE'S THAT RESCUE YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?" echoes Merlin's voice over the wall. "I'M STARTING TO BECOME A TAD BIT EXASPERATED NOW. THE SNAILS TASTE NOTHING LIKE CHICKEN. AND NOW THEY'VE DRAGGED THIS GIANT WOODEN DONKEY INTO THE CASTLE … OR IS IT A DONKEY? NEVER MIND, THAT'S NOT RELEVANT."

"We're working on it, Merlin!" Arthur answers, trying to sound as calming as possible, he doesn't want his servant to get even more frightened than he surely must be right now in the hands of enemy soldiers. No, he must make sure that Merlin is soothed. "We're going to get you out of there! Just wait a  _little_  longer! Have faith!"

"I HOPE WELL YOU DO," is the answer. "YOU SHOULD BE GLAD I HAVE THIS KIND OF PATIENCE!"

()()()

Back on square one.

"I have an idea!" sir Elyan exclaims. "I just need some rope, wood, two horseshoes, something big and sharp like a big pair of scissors and a volunteer … It's gonna be awesome!"

"Well that we should be able to get our hands on," says Lancelot, hopefully.

()()()

The man looks delighted at the weary knights' hurried approach. "Oh, hello again, fellows. Another shrubbery, already? I haven't been this lucky in my affairs for at least five years!"

"Not a shrubbery," corrects Arthur, "but we'd like a pair of hedge-scissors."

The man glances at the pair in his hands with a frown. "I like these a lot."

"You'll get them back in one piece, I swear on my princely honour," the prince assures him.

"Hmm. All right then. Five silver pennies. No less!"

With a sigh, Arthur hands over the money. At this rate they'll come back to Camelot completely broke.

()()()

The knights and prince watch confounded as Elyan's mysterious plan takes physical form: a wooden structure growing bigger and bigger, with ropes criss-crossing wildly. The horseshoes, found at the bottom of Lancelot's pack, have filled the function of some kind of pulleys. They've been instructed not to touch anything. Which is a very hard order to follow when you're curious and prone to prod at things (like Arthur and Gwaine and pretty much all of them) and Elyan's berated them at least six times already for touching things they shouldn't.

"ARTHUR, WHERE ARE YOU? THINK OF ALL THOSE TIMES I SAVED YOU. WERE I EVER THIS SLOW?"

"He sounds rather aggravated, sire," Leon supplies but Arthur is still not very pleased with the knights and gives him the cold shoulder.

"I'm not listening to you," the prince mutters before answering the warlock; "We're working on it, Merlin!"

Inside he's churning with anger at his servant's captors: he swears that if the French have done  _any_  harm in any manner to Merlin, if they've touched him, he'll cut off their-

"ARTHUR, ARE YOU THINKING EVIL, REVENGEFUL STUFF AGAIN?" comes a berating cry. "I'VE TOLD YOU, IT'S BAD MANNERS!"

"Shut up, Merlin!"

"Sire," interrupts Elyan (thankfully) in that moment, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's finished."

()()()

The French are crowding around him, armed with forks.

"Try this, try this. It's zee best  _fromage bleu_  of zee whole Bretagne!"

"Really, I'm full already …" the young warlock stammers clenching his stomach. He's not eaten this much in years. "I can't eat any more."

"We've not even past the starters yet! What's with zee English, can't you stomach a simple meal? We're not onto zee main course yet!"

"Please," Merlin pleads, making large doe eyes which in the past always has worked – but his captors seems to possess total immunity.

But suddenly, dinner is interrupted by a high-pitched voice:

"… _aaaaAAAAIII!"_

Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin at the scream, followed by a crash, something heavy – a body? – landing right on the table filled to the brim with strange foods and cheese and wine. The table cracks and collapses onto itself and the body is covered by a now food-stained white cloth. It takes a moment for it to untangle itself, revealing a furious prince clad in full chainmail and armour and bright red cloak.

"Arthur!" cries Merlin, relieved. "You took your time. I've been waiting  _forever_."

The prince quickly draws the servant into his arms; a much safer place than in the arms of any of those crazy Frenchmen, in Arthur's opinion. "Are you unharmed?" the man asks in a hushed voice, while pulling him backwards away from the French, who with furious expressions are closing in, forks raised high.

Merlin feels a little breathless after the impact with the prince's chest but then the arms around him are very comforting and warm. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Come! I shall protect you from these dangerous men," Arthur says and steers him towards the edge of the wall, while fighting off the French bravely with his sword, and then grabs the rope hanging off the edge to start climbing down. Below a group of anxious knights are waiting for their return. "Let us leave this silly place."

()()()

When they finally,  _finally_  are back in Camelot – eight hours and fifteen minutes (Merlin counted carefully) after the whole thing with the French - Gaius raises the Eyebrow. The group looks  _very_  worn out for having been on a trip for not even three days. No coaxing is needed to convince Merlin to come to his chambers, take a bath and rest his feet.

"Did you find what you sought?" the physician asks curiously while preparing a bubbling potion.

"Nah," Merlin shakes his head as he collapses onto the bed his head hitting the pillow. Oh, a pillow! A real fluffy pillow, that's real, and fluffy and not soiled by dirt or roads or rain! Even if it's drained in the smell of herbs, he snuggles it. He's really missed pillows, and proper food, and a bed.

"Arthur kind of gave up about the grail thing (could you please someday when I've recovered from this immense tiredness, explain to me what that  _is,_  anyway?) when meeting the French."

"The who?"

"It was a  _mess,_  Gaius," Merlin informs him, gesturing wildly with his arms and hands, eager to vent his frustration mostly  _without_  taking any pauses to breathe between the sentences. "Arthur kept being such a giant  _prat,_  stubborn like a mule (well no surprises there) and it took him ages to get me away from that dreadful, horrible castle. And then there were the Knights of Ni, they were kind of creepy, althought Arthur managed to solve that and I got to warm my feet by the fire but of course it took only like ten minutes before they were soaked and cold _again._  My feet, that is. And the Black Knight too, he was as stubborn as Arthur and they could probably have kept fighting  _forever_  but luckily, they didn't, since the Black Knight wasn't  _that_  good even if he was stubborn. Not to mention that bloody Keeper of the Bridge who wasn't at all as nice as the Fisher King's Keeper of the Bridge, I liked that guy better, even if I think Gwaine disagrees -"

"Stop and breathe! I cannot hear a word you're saying!" Gaius interrupts sternly and a red-faced Merlin does so, pausing and inhaling deeply.

The old man puts down the knife he's been using to cut the wood-sorrel onto the work-bench, staring at his ward in concern. "Merlin," he says seriously and takes seat on a chair next to the bed. "Start from the beginning, and tell me  _everything_."


	37. Get Captured by Slave Traders (It's So Bothersome)

Merlin wakes up with an enormous headache, as if someone's been using his head as anvil. But that makes no sense. He's not been near any forge for weeks and would certainly  _not_ let any smith use his head as anvil.

Then why does it hurt so badly? He's  _certain_  he didn't accompany Gwaine to the tavern last night … or accidentally got too close to one of Gaius' less safe potions …

The smell of dirty socks fills his nostrils, making him feel a bit ill. His eyes open slowly, meeting a dark stone ceiling, and immediately closes them again as his head pounds in protest.

They'd been riding through dangerous territory with Arthur because of said prat's need for a quest of some kind –  _again_  - wherein they of course had to go through woods filled with monsters and dangerous bandits and other less pleasant things. Merlin had loudly protested against this, again, since it's just stupid travelling there and they'd only land in trouble. The prat had as per usual not listened to Merlin, he never does, the stupid, stubborn git he is. (Why is he always so reckless? Merlin doesn't want to  _babysit_  him for the rest of their lives!)

And now look where it's landed them!

At least Arthur doesn't look hurt; there are no wounds and no blood visible when Merlin comes to, his head resting in the prince's lap (which is a rather nice place actually). The man's jaw is set, shoulders tense and there's a line of worry on his brow.

"Arthur? What happened?" Merlin asks, confused and sits up, and regrets it at once, his head starting to ring like there's a giant bell (and possibly a hammer) inside it. "Owowow. My _head_." He's vaguely aware that a firm but gentle hand lingers on his back, steadying him; it's kind of nice, warmth sliding up his neck.

"We were captured," the prince says quietly, the hint of an angry snarl on his lips. "Stay still or it'll only hurt more."

"Great," Merlin mutters sarcastically. "The start of a  _wonderful_  day."

He twists his head to inspect his surroundings seeking any eventual escape routes: the cell is dank, dirty but sturdy and well built, there's one window very high up and through the thick bars of the door he can spot a long row of brawny guards and he twitches nervously at the sight. The cell is mostly made of layers of shadows all around them and something moves in dark, maybe a mouse or something else tiny with teeth. Unconsciously Merlin crawls up against Arthur's chest like seeking cover. " _Where_  are we?" he asks quietly. "D'you know why they've taken us? Are Percival and the others all right? Are you working on a plan to get us out yet? Have they-"

"Will you hold your tongue for one minute,  _Mer_ lin," the prince retorts, "and I might be able to  _think_  in peace."

"Be careful so you don't hurt yourself," Merlin reminds him cheekily.

At that moment, a voice (far too jolly to suit this kind of situation) reaches the pair. "'Lo there Merlin! Fancy meeting you here."

"Gwaine!" the warlock exclaims with shock. Merlin had hoped the knights would've escaped, seeing only him and Arthur there, but apparently not. "Where are the others, Percival, Elyan, Leon? Are you all right?"

"They decided to crash the party too," Gwaine reports with a grin and squats down next to the warlock, who's rubbing his head trying to will the headache away. From behind him, three familiar faces appear. The knights' cloaks and armour have been removed, and Leon has a gash on his temple. Immediately Merlin starts worrying, bombarding them with questions but due to his headache (Arthur's now petting his hair, murmuring something about checking for a head wound) Merlin can't go into full mothering-hen-mode.

The prince is nowhere as enthusiastic as Gwaine, eyeing him darkly. "I've told you to stop that attitude," he says briskly. "It irritates me."

"What? I'm just keeping out spirits up. See, lads, soon enough we'll get out of this rat hole and find a cozy tavern. Drinks will be on me."

Even if their situation is very bad and this isn't the time for jokes, Merlin chuckles, albeit it makes his head hurt more and he has to lean against Arthur's broad chest, his vision swimming, and Arthur doesn't mind, wrapping a supporting arm around his manservant's waist. "You, paying for a drink – or  _six_  of them? I've never seen that happen!"

"Well, seeing is believing," Leon adds and Percival's lips quirk up in a grin.

Seeing his manservant's grimace of pain, Arthur is quick to react, stroking his back in a (hopefully) soothing manner while not being  _too_  soft, after all he's not some kind of girl.

"I'd almost pay just to see it myself," agrees Elyan, who's seated himself on Merlin's other side; the warlock is now effectively swarmed by protective knights from all sides, and he knows that now, there's no use in struggling so he lets Arthur keep him in his lap and Percival fuss over the bruise on his wrist and Leon asking concernedly about his welfare and totally ignoring Merlin's responses that he's fine. And Gwaine happily goes on talking about their escape-to-be and ale and flowers while petting Merlin's hair.

"Quit it!" Arthur barks at him. "It's an order.  _One more word_  about taverns –"

"All right, all right." The dark-haired knight sighs exaggeratedly, gesturing with his hands.

"Honestly," the prince mutters to Merlin, who thinks he should take pity on him and pats Arthur's arm. "Why did we even go on this stupid trip?"

"For glory! For honour! For-"

"Be.  _Silent_. Whose idea was it to let Gwaine come with us?"

The knights are all suddenly very busy whistling and admiring the sturdy stone-work of the prison walls.

()()()

The thug looks very pleased with himself, eyeing the prisoner with a huge grin on his face. "Arthur Pendragon and his  _formidable_  knights. I  _never_  thought I'd have the honour to meet you in person."

"Oh, well I'm frankly quite  _sorry_  we've met in person," Gwaine says and is hit in the face by one of the bulky guards.

"Gwaine, you idiot!" the prince hisses on his breath. "Shut up!"

The slave traders in the room regard the weatherworn knights closely, still smirking. It's not every day you have a prince and his men stumbling into your domain. Trapping them was quite a struggle, but it will be worth it indeed.

However, they've heard about King Uther Pendragon, of his stubbornness. Sending a ransom might not prove fruitful, but surely they will make a fortune by selling the bunch at a slave market, for a good deal of money. Yes, for who wouldn't want their own prince or knight or maybe all of them at once? Oh, what a lucky day! The slave traders' eyes gleam with happiness. Soon they're going to be some very, very rich and very, very happy men.

But then their eyes lands on – like seeing him for the first time – that lanky young man, forced onto his knees last in the row. The lad doesn't look sturdy at all, so he can't be sold as a worker; and he's definitely not noble. "And who's this?"

The prince is quick to speak. There's an edge to his voice, sharp and breathy. "Nobody. Just a servant."

The thug's lips curl upward in delight, as he looks the servant up and down. Thin, pale, a servant's hands, yes - but not entirely unpleasant to look at. Not at all. Certain customers would pay quite a lot to have him. One of the guards pokes the servant's shoulder and says, "Quite a feisty one, boss. We'd to knock him out to bring him back, he kept strugglin' and tryin' to run off."

"Yeah, bet he's just as feisty in bed," another guard joins in staring at the servant gleefully. The room fills with cold laughter and Merlin flinches.

Arthur reacts at once, a growl deep in his throat and his hands twitching, trying to reach for a knife or sword or anything. "Don't you dare touch him!" If they hurt Merlin … if they hurt him in  _any way_ , Arthur would tear them apart with his bare hands, he'd slash them to pieces, he'd, he'd–

"Seems we hit a sore spot, eh." The leader of the thugs rubs his hands together; this new unexpected information about the prince could be very valuable. "Chain them up again."

()()()

Unfortunately, they're led to two different cells so they can't make a plan together on how to get out of this mess.

"We need to escape," Leon mutters and tugs at the chains. They only jingle a bit and refuse to set him free.

Elyan wrinkles his nose, annoyed the chains are too short for him to reach up and scratch the itching skin. "But how? We've got no weapons."

"If we could take out the guards somehow..." Gwaine says.

"Even if we managed to and somehow got out of this cell. We've no idea where they've put Arthur and Merlin," Percival says. "We need to find out. Bit first, we've got to get out." They all nod simultaneously. "Any ideas? Do you have anything useful on you?"

Making noise as metal hits metal, Gwaine shifts and struggles for a moment, reaching for something near his ear. "Wait! I've got a hairpin..."

"Brilliant!" Elyan exclaims.

"Why a hairpin and not a knife or some other weapon?" Leon asks instead; a knife would've been much more useful against the guards.

The other knight just gives him an incredulous look. "And have it ruin my splendid hair? No way!"

()()()

In another cell, in another corridor, the chains are not as short but still as annoying and the prince finds himself tangled in them every five minutes.

"Merlin, you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine," the servant replies, rubbing his head. It still hurts a terrible lot and those guards grabbing him so hard and dragging him didn't make it better.

Arthur doesn't believe him, of course. "Let me see."

"There's nothing to see," Merlin protests when the prince tugs him closer by the wrist and starts examining his head, hand linger on the dark hair.

"There's a bruise right there," Arthur says and growls foul words under his breath, of which most are simply to dreadful to list, the rating won't hold for it. "Those damned -"

"Arthur, you know what I've said about manners!"

"Shut up, Merlin."

That moment, a shadow covers the cell door, falling onto the pair. Startled Arthur springs up and tries covering Merlin with his body, ignoring his servant's annoyed grunt.

It's a man: tall, broad and toothless and he stinks to high heaven, worse than a bunch of knights after an afternoon's training in the hot sun. Merlin pities whoever has to draw  _his_ baths. "Prince Arthur Pendragon and his servant," the man says clicking his tongue, and Arthur growls like an animal through his teeth. "I bet we'll get high bids on you."

"Bids?" Merlin blurts out, and then, realizing what it means: "Oh. Crap."

()()()

"A-ha!" With a click one lock opens and the chain falls to land with a thud on the hay-covered floor. The rest of the chains quickly follow its fate, and the knights stand and stretch for a moment, yawning and popping backs. Then they peer out between the bars.

There are four guards five feet away from the cell door, preoccupied with a game of Truth or Dare. Quietly, quietly, more quiet than the quietest mouse, Gwaine twists the hairpin in the lock to open the door. It opens almost soundlessly and none of the guards react.

On Leon's command, the knights wait until one of the guards is forced to do a river-dance and then, the knights jump out of the cell, yelling like wild beasts. Or possibly like they're being chased by wild beasts. Anyhow the guards fall over in shock and are too late to react, and before they can reach for their weapons, Percival has taken them all out. Afterward he flashes his bicep with a pleased expression. "Always as reliable," he remarks.

Gwaine is equally pleased. "May my brilliant escape plan always be remembered," he says proudly and thinks he should make his awesome hairpin a relic once back home.

Meanwhile Elyan has browsed the other cells nearby but all are empty. Leon rolls his eyes at the other two and gestures to the left where there's a large door, half-opened, and a stair leading upwards. Logically that's the way out of here. "Let's find Merlin and Arthur."

()()()

They're led to the same room as earlier, but it's been redecorated some but in a poor taste. A wooden stage has been put at the centre and torhces are burning allover the room, and the hall doors have been opened. It has started to fill up with people: men in worn tunics and dirty boots and with menacing looks about them. Arthur glares at the crowd and at the guards, struggling to keep close to Merlin. He'd do  _anything_  for a sword.

At the back of the stage, a man with a scroll in his hand is taking notes and he lifts his head as the guards approach. "The latest ones," a guard says, "the prince of Camelot."

"We'll never have to work again!"

The slave traders look keenly enthusiastic. Even if Arthur pauses, digging his heels into the floor against the tugging chains, and spits in their faces.

"You  _will_  let us go," he demands with all the princely authority he can muster.

"Yeah you will!" a voice suddenly rings out over the hall and the crowd falls oddly silent. "I mean," the speaker, not yet visible, backtracks. "To  _me._  As I'll buy him. The market's opened now yeah?"

The speaker of the traders, another burly man with questionable hygiene, walks up onto the stage. "What's yer biddin'?"

"Err - let's see - a thousand gold pieces!"

"Only a thousand!" Arthur bristles. "I'm worth more than that you moron!"

The murmurs begin again and the slave traders exchange looks. They've not sold anything for that much  _ever!_ They could buy a castle in some faraway land and become kings!

"Show yerself, stranger!"

"Naturally, naturally," the speaker says and out steps a strangely familiar man. Those clothes ... Yes, that's Gwaine's jacket and blue tunic but he's wearing a terribly ugly hat which makes his appearance confusing. Arthur's eyes widens after two seconds or so when he realizes that it  _is_  Gwaine, free of chains, in the middle of the crowd, bidding to  _buy_  him - and then he glances at Merlin, who shares his reaction and nods. yes, it's Gwaine. But there are no signs of recognizing him among the slave traders. Maybe it's the hat that's confusing them.

"So I want the Prince. Oh and of course the lovely servant boy too," Gwaine says and dips his hat and were he free of chains, Arthur would've leaped off the stage and strangled him bare-handed. Practically flirting with his Merlin! Has the man no  _shame_! (It's possible to hear the actual sound of gnashing teeth coming from the prince and the nearest guard looks rather uncomfortable.)

"I'll double the prize," Gwaine adds grinning like a madman. " _Two_  thousand for the both of them."

"... Anyone with a higher bidder?" the slave trader asks after a moment. The scribe takes fast eager notes. Maybe he's writing down what an historical moment this is and how rich they'll become and how they'll finally have their happily ever after.

Someone else steps up. "Actually, I do! Two and a half thousand, for both!"

_Leon!_

How had they escaped? the prince wonders, staring at his knights wide-eyed, and his thoughts are shared by Merlin who is just as surprised. Never mind, it's not important now. The important thing is for them all to escape, alive and in one piece. And without being sold to some strangers.

After sir Leon, two more steps up, namely Percival and Elyan both with slight modifications to their appearance so that the slave traders won't have a clue that just a few minutes ago they too were prisoners here. "We want them too!" they cry.

"I take the Prince!" Elyan says. "Three thousand gold pieces!"

"Then I take the servant! Five thousand!" Percival shouts, and Arthur discreetly moves to stand slightly in front of Merlin to shield him from all the dangerous eyes and the prince glares down everyone in proximity completely ignoring Merlin's complaints of 'I want to see what's going on!'

"Hey, I'll take them  _both,"_ counters Gwaine now slightly angrily because honestly, he was here first so it's his right. "For ... uhm ... for ten thousand!"

The slaver trader on stage is nearly crying with joy. It's a dream coming true!

Never mind none of the knights has a penny on them, they eagerly start shouting out higher and higher bids, determined to be the one to take the prize home with them.

"Twenty-thousand!"

"Forty-thousand!"

"One  _million!"_

_"A_ _thousand_ _million! Ha, in your face, Gwaine!"_

_But then, suddenly:_

"Hey, hey, wait," cuts in Percival, waving his large hands in protest and the shouts cease. "Do we actually  _have_  all of that money?"

Elyan rolls his eyes. "Of course we don't, Percival, we're trying to free them! Obviously."

"By lying?"

"Essentially, yes."

"...This is confusing me..."

The slave trader stops crying with joy and starts crying with anguish instead. Oh no, it's a  _lie_! Deceit! His dear, dear gold, all gone! Poof! Just like that! Oh dear, oh dear.

"But we should gather the money we  _actually_  have to buy them, shouldn't we?" Percival asks next.

"Well what do you got?" his friend says.

"Uhm ... a small stone, two bigger stones and three slightly bigger stones than that." He opens his hand to show them. He's proud of them actually: he picked them himself during his travels; they're all smooth and white and round so surely somebody would like them. He'd originally planned to give them as a gift to a certain warlcok, but now they might be even more appreciated.

Elyan fishes something out of his pocket and lays it on Percival's large palm. "And I've got two finely polished buttons."

"Oh! Oh!" Gwaine cries out excitedly and adds his offering to the pile. "It's saddening to give it away, of course, but it's for a good cause and since my  _awesome_  hairpin is so awesome it's worth a  _lot,_  I promise you that!"

"So, we've got … six stones, two buttons and a hairpin," Percival sums up pleasedly.

"You can't be  _serious_ ," Arthur growls up on the stage, even more annoyed now. Is this what they call helping? "Why are my knights such morons?"

"There, there," Merlin tries soothing him, "calm down, I'm sure they've got a … a very good plan …" Albeit he's not so certain himself. Actually he's not certain at all. What if some stranger turns up with real money and buys them? Then he'll get separated from Arthur and – no!  _I must stay positive,_  he tells himself,  _calm and positive._

One of the slave traders raises their voice, clearly befuddled: "That doesn't have the value of a million gold pieces! … I think. I mean, I'm not  _that_  good at math..."

"Uh, me neither," other slave traders agree and murmurs rise and fall lively in the hall as a discussion among them begins, about whether or not a few stones, two buttons and a hairpin can have the same value as a million gold pieces and thus the same value as a captured prince and his manservant, or maybe it's all useless and they won't get the prince and servant sold, and then what should they do?

(In the background, a sighing sir Leon, also known as the inventor of the face-palm, sinks down on the nearest chair and buries his face in his hands in despair.)

All right, time to give up the 'calm and positive' façade now.

"We'll  _never_  get out of here," Merlin whines in despair and despite the chains clenches the prince's arms and Arthur is about to agree with him, because his hope in his knights is steadily sinking like a dying flame in his chest. "Arthur, what are we going to do?"

But before a fight can break out in which people might be harmed and they will be forced to stay even longer here at this dingy place, Gwaine cuts in speaking firmly:

"But they're worth it. Ever heard of  _sentimental_  value?"

All of the slave traders' eyes go wide with curiosity at this new word.

()()()

"I can't believe it was that  _simple,"_  the one of the knights say as they, full of joy and relief, flee the castle and try track down Camelot along with the chain-less Prince and his manservant.

And if Merlin finds himself offered to be carried by all five of them and they ask if he's all right every five minutes, stopping to request that them to massage his feet or have him wear their jackets or some other ridiculous thing, it's rather nice even if Arthur threatens to - well, do less nice things to the knights. It's a rather comical picture that enters Camelot late that night, and the King is less than pleased to hear about their capture by slave traders. Gaius is also less than pleased, but there are no eyebrows involved, at least not in his direction of which Merlin is glad - after all, it's not  _his_  fault they got captured by slave traders!

()()()

Not long after, when the prince and his men have found their way back to Camelot and had themselves a few good beers, a group of former slave traders, now their minds at peace with the fact they can abandon their horrid trade, approach a desk at a busy city somewhere in Albion. At the desk there are many travelling offers, to distant lands all-over the world, which is typical in this Dark Age.

However, the former traders are slightly … no, well, let's be honest - they're  _smoking_   _mad_  like erupting volcanoes when finding out and this trader cares naught for sentimental value and no, they  _cannot_  travel to any sunny beach in the lower hemisphere on six stones, two buttons and a hairpin. No matter how finely polished they are.


	38. Burst Into Song Without First Telling Arthur

Arthur is walking across the courtyard, deep in a discussion the latest war tactic with sir Bedivere, when the knight abruptly halts and the prince nearly slams into the man's shoulder.

"What is it?" the prince demands in a princely tone but the knight seems as if captivated and absorbed by something else completely thus not hearing the prince's words. Irritated and confused, Arthur lifts his head. Ahead, on the northern part of the courtyard, a mass of people have gathered; guards who've seemingly abandoned their posts, salesmen who have abandoned the marketplace, servants who have abandoned their baskets overloaded with dirty laundry.

"What is going on here?" Arthur asks, astounded.

Sir Bedivere glances at him angrily, putting a finger to his lips in a hush-hush motion and hisses "Shhh!  _Listen!"_

Like he does when searching for pray during hunting, Arthur tunes his senses. And then he hears it. A soft tenor flying through the air, into the courtyard; the voice is calm, beautiful even, the words somehow magical, the notes warm. Arthur feels at the same time calmed and alerted, since he wants to hear more of the singing, draw closer to hear more clearly – yet, he finds it difficult to move from the spot. The voice…it's somehow familiar, but he cannot place it. And for now he doesn't need to. He's content to just stand here and enjoy it, listen for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, the month; mouth agape at its loveliness…

Wait.  _Wait_ just a moment here...

… He can't do that - stand here and listen blindly that is - he's got duties. Important princely duties that cannot wait. More importantly, he can't let his knights and the guards and servants just stand there and listen instead of  _working,_  though the sound is so exquisite, Arthur wishes it would never stop – but the guards should be on their posts!

He jerks his head suddenly and pulls himself, with some struggle, out of his daydreams and starts glaring at the rest of the gathered men, who are standing under an open window to the citadel – the source of the voice – sighing like milkmaids, their eyes dulled as if by dreams.

"Get back to your stations and work!" the prince orders in a princely manner, causing them all to jump and glare at him, before the guards reluctantly gathering their spears and returning to their posts; the servants does the same with their burdens, and the knights straighten up and continue walking across the yard to wherever they're off to.

Still annoyed, Arthur stalks off, up the stairs and toward his chambers. He can bet that Merlin has probably gotten no work done as well, hearing that voice and getting  _distracted_ , like everyone else. Yes, he probably has, and skipped all of his duties. Arthur's going to have a serious word with him about that.

Only, when he arrives at his chambers, heels clicking loudly against the stone floor, he finds (kind of to his disappointment) that the voice has quieted and Merlin is folding linen and putting it in the cupboard like he should be doing, and the fireplace has been dusted out and the bed linen changed. The servant looks at him with a raised eyebrow when the door is loudly slammed open.

"Arthur, what are you doing here?" Merlin asks and then adds, suspiciously, "You thought I wasn't working, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't." Arthur says and walks out of the room again as if it's the most natural thing to do, leaving the servant staring after him in confusion.

()()()

The very same afternoon he hears it again. This time emitted from another open window, cutting through the bustle of the street. The Prince is sitting with the King and some councilors so old they probably haven't been outside the citadel for at least two decades, having a meeting. But the voice cuts through their heated debate about taxes and freezes them in the middle of action. The sound hits his eardrums with such loving tenderness he sighs and closes his eyes.

If he could just find out who was the source …

But it doesn't matter now, when he hears it… It is rather like an enchantment. A wonderful enchantment.

The King also cannot concentrate on anything else momentarily; he silences in the middle of a sentence. For one minute his face is an expression of peace and joy. But the next he startles as he comes to his senses and adopts his usual somberness.

"What's that sound?" he demands. "Who is causing it?"

The sharp words cuts through Arthur's reverie. "I'm not sure, father," he says. "It's the second time I've heard it."

Heads turns toward the half-opened window and the King scratches his chin in thought. That voice is very lovely. Uther has not heard such a song since Lady Helen's visit – it's such a pity she turned out to be that witch. He's not had a proper singer visiting or performing at his court for so long – he'd very much like it. Maybe at the banquet tomorrow night?

Yes, what a brilliant idea!

"Arthur, I have a mission for you. I need you to find the singer so they can attend the feast tomorrow evening. As a special guest. We'd need some entertainment."

The prince nods eagerly. He agrees that it's a great idea, and to finally find out whom the voice belongs to…

"Yes, father. I shall see to it immediately."

And it's a wonderful relief being let out of the stuffy council chamber and get away from those old bickering men. He's never liked council meetings.

()()()

He bursts through the corridors full of energy and thus runs straight into Merlin, who's carrying a basket filled with bottles and other things he's just bought for Gaius.

"Oh! Perfect. Just the person I was seeking. I need your help," the prince says.

"Great, another chore. What do you need this time, i _sire/i_? A hot bath, or do you need your armour?" Merlin asks with a tired sigh. He's just come back from the market, can't Arthur see that? It'd rained briefly too and his shoes are all wet.

For once Arthur doesn't comment on the sarcasm. "I need you to find a person. They have a great singing voice and … And." Arthur pauses. Thinking for a moment. Scratching his head. The silence between them stretches for several long moments, and Merlin cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at him expectantly.

_"_ _And_ _…?"_ _Merlin prompts expectantly._

"Well, that's what we know about them."

"... Oh, right. Very informative."

"You need to help me find them, Merlin. So good luck! And hurry up, my father wants them by tomorrow!"

Merlin nearly drops the basket in shock. "Your  _father_?"

Is a sorcerer on the loose? Is that why they're seeking this mysterious voice? Maybe they are sure the singer has magic. Maybe they've sung to put a spell on someone, like Mary Collins. Or is the King merely suspecting? A merely suspecting King is bad enough. He's got to tell Gaius, now!

()()()

"You must be extra careful, Merlin," his guardian tells him in serious tones. "Don't do anything rash."

"I will be - I always am!" the warlock says, ignoring the rolling of eyes. "But I still have to find whoever they want to find … right? Or Arthur will be angry and more of a prat than usual."

"Yes, keep your eyes open. But you could always tell him you cannot find this person – that you don't have enough information, perhaps, that you've never heard them sing."

"Maybe I could stall the guards," Merlin says, eyes widening with realization, "If it's really a sorcerer they're seeking, then, the sorcerer will have time to escape the city - unless they're bad guys, of course, then I'll stop them. (But I hope they aren't)."

"That sounds good, Merlin," Gaius says and hums in accord, before returning to the pink bubbling potion on the desk.

()()()

It's some good advice he's been given and Merlin takes it to heart. Later that day, when bringing Arthur his evening meal, he tells the prince exactly that he's not got enough information and hasn't heard the Voice, thus, he can't help finding the singer, sorry. Hopefully, that'll give the singer time enough to flee. Arthur isn't that pleased, frowning through the entire meal, while Merlin prepares the bed and lays out a nightshirt (though Arthur usually sleeps without it anyway for some reason).

"That's not good. In fact that is really, really  _not_  good. Really, it's outright  _bad._  Father's really anxious about this (and me too)," the prince says and pushes around some of the stew on the plate without appetite. He's not interested in food right now, and he finds he cannot concentrate: training was awful, he was dangerously close to losing against sir Leon and this afternoon when trying to review important documents he found himself doodling in the margin while his thoughts wandered.

If he could just find that singer, it'd end his problems and misery. He's not heard that wonderful voice for hours now … It's  _unsettling_.

"Maybe they've left the city?" Merlin suggests and fluffs one of the pillows the way Arthur likes them.

"In that case we'll just have to extend our search," the prince decides and Merlin's heart drops. That's not good. That's not good at all.

()()()

That evening the warlock more or less crashes into the physician's rooms, interrupting his work and causing the working physician to startle and drop the large pot he's holding. Unfortunately, the bright and now green-ish liquid splashes over the edges and onto the desk, which is already scarred by past incidents, fires and magic accidents. The old man grumbles a curse but Merlin is too wrapped up in concern for the unknown Voice to notice.

"Gaius! Gaius! You've got to help!"

"What is it now?" Gaius grunts, clearly displeased at the interruption. He grabs a cloth and attempts to salvage the potion - or at least the desk.

"It's the singer! I told Arthur I couldn't find them, like you said, but now he wants to extend the search to the outer villages! What if it really is a sorcerer and they're about to get caught? Uther would have their heads on a spike! I need to  _help!"_

"Not now, Merlin," the old man says annoyed, a grim look on his face, and he stares Merlin down and for some reason starts to grow into this giant, terrifying shadow-demon with large red eyes burning like a thousand fires and steam coming out of his ears. "Thanks to your interruption I now have to start this painstaking experiment, which I've been working on for the last  _three week,_ from  _scratch_  and I need ingredients that only grow in winter,which is five months from now _ **.**_ _"_

By now the physician-come-morphed-into-giant-demon has reached the ceiling and grown red horns and Merlin has started to back away, he better leave before Gaius pops.

"Uh, I'm really, really sorry ...?" Merlin says as apologetically as he can hoping his mentor won't be that mad at him for  _too_  long. Hopefully. Maybe.

Instead of forgiveness, he's given the horrifying Eyebrow now magnified thirteen times, and ordered to clean  _all_  leech tanks that Gaius has ever owned.

He considers magicking up those ingredients Gaius so badly wants. Maybe he should make it an endless supply. Actually that's a good idea, meaning he won't have to go into the forest and get lost and dirty and trip over invisible roots or attacked by griffins, in hour-long searches for rare plants or mushrooms, ever again. Yes! That's brilliant! Then he could make the leech tanks self-cleaning as well and -

 _"Now,_ Merlin," Gaius says impatiently, like Arthur on a bad day. Only worse. Thirteen times worse.

He still has to polish the prat prince's armour. Arthur probably doesn't want leeches on it.

()()()

The deadline is drawing ever nearer. The following morning, Arthur sends two search parties out with orders to bring any singing person to the great hall – not only from the city but any nearby village as well.

By lunchtime the hall is starting to fill up. Arthur takes seat on a high chair, pen and parchment in hand – a list of names of all the people gathered. They are old and young, male and female, peasants and nobility. And he's got to listen to each one until he finds the right person. With him as jury he has two of his knights, Leon and Bors, they have the patience necessary, and Merlin naturally. The servant is seated on the step along with a pile of boots to polish – no matter how many times he's called a dollophead, Arthur won't let him sit there idle. He's a servant after all. And the constant sound of brush on leather is kind of soothing: a reminded he won't go through alone.

So begins a long day – a  _very_  long day.

()()()

It's awful.

Bloody  _awful._

There've been a mixed variety of voices: false falsettos, quiet altos, obnoxious sopranos and loud basses. They've sung tavern songs and pretty melodies or travelling songs they've picked up from Mercia. Some have just stood there looking stupid and too shy to actually  _sing_. All of them have been wrong or off in some manner or the other, and sent out of the room with disappointed looks on their faces. After the hundred and fiftieth person, they take a much needed break. Arthur and his knights draw back to a corner of the room, and the remaining people waiting to sing (two hundred and thirty-six) sit on the floor or walk around while chattering.

Merlin still has twenty-two pair of boots left to polish and is quietly grumbling about pratheads and leech tanks and other things that he oughtn't; Arthur struggles to ignore him and not turn his head every fifteen minutes to start an argument about idiots, to lift his own spirits. It'd distract him too much.

"We'll  _never_ find the right singer," Arthur groans in despair, resisting the urge to pull at his hair (he's got to have some dignity with all these people watching).

"There's still a chance, sire," Leon says, he's always optimistic like that. "They could be right in this room."

The prince glances at the sky outside the window. The sun was dropping at a rapid pace. "We're nearly out of time." Soon the hall would need to be cleared so that the servants could make the final preparations before the banquet.

"We'd better get started then," Bors says and Arthur nods, but his hope is sinking like a rock in water. Not even hearing Merlin whine makes him feel any better.

()()()

Hours pass and now they're down to the last person, a pretty young lady, and Arthur hopes she is at least decent so that they can pick her instead of the intended person, if the worst happens. Hopefully it won't anger his father …

But apparently she can't sing. At  _all_. And thus is sent out through the back door like everyone else.

"This has been an awful day," Arthur sighs and throws away the long list of names.  _Useless. Utterly useless_. His heart is somewhere around his knees, a heavy rock which cannot be picked up and placed at the right place again. "Absolutely awful."

"One hour until the feast," Leon murmurs.

"I'm done with the boots," a tired Merlin announces. " _Please_  can I go now? See, I asked nicely." He waves a darkened brush in the prince's direction and nearly hits the man's nose with it. "You know, you cabbage head, I could have done something fun or  _productive_ today but  _no, no_ ,  _no,_  you have to be a prat and force me to sit here anyway and do something someone else could've done any other day, all by myself, just to let me suffer. You are one giant  _prat."_

Despite the grave situation, the words cause Arthur to smile. Trust Merlin to lighten his day in the end.

()()()

The King is interrupted while changing to his formal wear, including his favourite bejeweled crown, by a knocking of his door and his son announcing that unfortunately, the singer couldn't be found.

"You haven't found them?"

"I'm sorry father," Arthur says, ashamed. "We've searched the city and beyond, but there's no sign of them. It's like they've vanished completely."

Uther grumbles gloomily. He'd truly looked forward to it. So had Arthur, judging by the look on his son's face. "Nothing can be done now, though," he says, voice heavy. "Are the other preparations done?"

"Yes, father."

"Very well."

()()()

At the feast that commences, there's an air of somberness about it that makes them all less cheerful. Like there's something  _missing._  Arthur hasn't got any appetite and only takes a sip of his wine. The King holds a short speech but is mostly silent. Since the prince allowed Merlin this night off (the servant complained so much after polishing all those boots) he has no one to share his misery with.

An hour passes, but Arthur cannot endure more and asks to be excused, and for once he's allowed to leave without fuss. Slowly he starts making his way to his chambers. Maybe in the morning he'll feel better…

It's in that moment, when all hope has faded, that he hears the voice again.

Startled and overjoyed, Arthur starts jogging down the hall. Following the sound. It grows stronger with each step. He rushes past the guards and the busy servants, toward the western wing – he route is familiar but he is blind to all but the lovely voice, now singing of princes and dreams and other juvenile gibberish that Arthur normally wouldn't listen to but now he can't stop.

The voice leads up a set of stairs, a tower … to a familiar wooden door, which is half-open. The chamber is littered with herbs and books and the musky smell of physician, and Merlin is sitting by the table reading a book and singing.

_Wait, what?_

Arthur blinks and rubs at his eyes to make sure he's not seeing things. Or hearing things, for that matter.

All this time -  _It can't have been…! -_ it's been _Merlin_. That makes absolutely  _no_   _sense_. Merlin, who's a clumsy idiot and barely can protect his own hide, can't be the one. It just can't. But he, for some reason,  _is_.

"Merlin?" he splutters.

The song is cut in mid-verse and the boy nearly falls off the chair. The prince promptly marches over and grabs his insolent servant's ear. "Why didn't you tell me you were the singer, you idiot?"

"Whaa-?  _Ouch_! Stop pulling at my ear!"

Reluctantly Arthur releases the offended ear, which Merlin starts rubbing at while grimacing, but doesn't stop glaring at him. "All this – searching the castle, sitting those horrible hours and listening to all those people and getting stressed out – it's been a  _complete waste_! Why the hell didn't you  _tell me_ from the beginning?"

The servant looks at him embarrassed and panicked and waves his hands. "I – I didn't think you meant  _me_. I didn't know. I didn't know!" (He doesn't say anything about the sorcerer-part, that'll have to wait till later.)

But then a thought hits Arthur straight in the chest. Of course! He tugs Merlin to his feet and surveys him (he needs to change clothes … where's his formal livery? Or he could borrow something old from Arthur's wardrobe, that's simpler, yeah). "Hey, hey, where are we going?" Merlin exclaims when he's pulled from the room. "I hadn't finished that book!"

"I'm still awfully angry with you, but  _you_  can actually  _save_  this night. Everyone is gloomy down at the hall."

The boy stares at him, confused. "But, how?"

"By singing of course! You need to change to some finer clothes though. I won't have you standing there looking like a fool."

"Oh … uhmm. All right. I don't know if it's a good idea though. Really. I'm not that good a singer anyway ..." Merlin is hesitant but it doesn't matter how much he protests; Arthur won't listen anyway.

Once in the prince's chambers Arthur pretty much empties his wardrobe and dumps the clothes on the floor ("Arthur, don't do that! Then I've got to clean and iron all of that i _again/i_!") and starts rifling through them. Eventually he finds an old pair of black breeches and a red shirt with yellow embroidery on it. They're from when he was younger and will hopefully fit Merlin's thinner frame. He thrusts the clothes at Merlin's chest and the servant fumbles to catch them.

"Change behind the screen. Hurry up you idiot!" He pushes Merlin there and holds his breath at the sound of fabric being dropped.

"Do I really have to sing?" Merlin asks nervously over the screen. "I'm not  _that_  good—"

"Shut up and do as I say."

()()()

King Uther is about to stand to hold another speech, when the door opens and his son enters, dragging someone behind them. The King does a double take, because while the person is finely clad, he recognizes Gaius' ward from a mile off.

"Father," Arthur says in a breathless voice and bows. "I've found him."

"Found who, son?"

"The singer!"

The King does a double take  _again_  and looks at the boy in astonishment, who's now trying to escape like a scared hare from the hunter's aim. The boy shuffles his feet nervously and tries backing away but Arthur's got a firm grip of his arm. "Just one song, Merlin," the prince says impatiently.  _"One,_  and then you can go back to reading that stupid book."

"I, uh…"

"Come on,  _Mer_ lin." The prince pushes him toward the centre of the now silent room, and all eyes turn onto the servant. Waiting.

Nothing happens. For a time. The servant stares back, silent.

"Any day now," Arthur says and is starting to become  _a tad bit_  annoyed and impatient with his manservant now; what if he won't sing or his voice cracks or was just an illusion earlier, meaning Arthur misheard and Merlin isn't the singer? His father would be so furious. The prince would end up sent back to his rooms and banned from going outside for a week, so he'd have to sit and sulk and be utterly bored, while Merlin would get thrown in the dungeons. Or the stocks. Or banished, or some other punishment the King sees fit –

"All right then," Merlin mutters and glares at the prince a final time, arms crossed, before his pose relaxes and he inhales and then he  _sings._

"Oh," Arthur gasps and luckily there's a chair right behind him which he can sink down onto and  _listen_.

Maybe it's a spell, it could have been one binding everyone in this room and lulling them slowly into a world of wool and fluffy clouds and cute little ponies but Arthur couldn't care less. It's so lovely, and now when he can actually look at Merlin's face as he sings it's ten times lovelier than before, and it doesn't hurt that Merlin's very lovely to look at. The servant looks so calm and happy and relaxed and since everyone's so enthralled, nobody pokes his shoulder to remind him to stop drooling.

When the final few notes echoes through the hall and fades in the air, even the King's dangerously close to tears.

It takes a moment for Arthur's mind to clear, for him to come back to the present and by that time happy applauds thunders in the hall and Merlin, ears red, is trying to flee through a back door.

"Oi! Wait up," Arthur cries and runs after him and grabs his wrist when catching up with him in an empty hallway.

"Can I go back to my room and read now?" Merlin asks. "And change out of these clothes. They … itch."

"Itch? How does the finest silk in Camelot  _itch?_ " Before his servant can answer, Arthur goes on, "Anyway, I've changed my mind; you're not going to go back to your chamber and read that book. You're going to come with me."

"What for?"

The Prince rolls his eyes. "You honestly never stop asking questions, do you,  _Mer_ lin! You're going to come to my room, of course. Then you're going to sing. For  _me._ " Because having all of those other people listening to Merlin's wonderful voice and staring at him like that upset Arthur somewhat; Merlin is  **his**  servant, no one else's.

"…But aren't there minstrels for that sort of thing?"

An idea strikes Arthur that moment, a wonderful idea, and he's certain his father would not protest at such a suggestion.

"Then I'll promote you to my Royal Minstrel! There must be some lyre or flute somewhere in this castle you can use."

Despite not struggling against being dragged to the prince's rooms, Merlin mutters something under his breath about " _not the promotion I've been hoping for."_


	39. Volunteer To Go On Stupid Suicidal Quests to Destroy Magical Rings of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: This chapter turned into a Lord of the Rings crossover._

It starts out a normal Wednesday…

Wait, hang on a minute.

Have there  _ever_  been any normal Wednesdays around here? Merlin doesn't think there's ever been, not since he moved to Camelot and met Arthur. Before maybe, when in Ealdor, then sometimes there were normal Wednesdays.

But not in Camelot. No,  _never_  in Camelot. Here, there are always magical mishaps of some kind; either an attacking sorcerer, or a king that's gone mad, or there's a battle to be fought (often involving stubborn princes and one or two dragons and immortal armies that are a true pain in the backside), or Arthur's favourite jacket (you know, the one with the studs) has gone missing so the prince goes on rampage and Merlin has to sneak into the kitchen to steal cookies for him to make him calm down some ...

The list could continue into the infinity and beyond.

And pretty much all the time, one way or another, a frustrated warlock ends up in the stocks/the dungeons/dangerously close to be caught on fire/something else equally bothersome. Then there's Gaius' Eyebrow Look™ which  _always_  happens, regardless of the main problem is, only reinforcing the realization of how screwed they are when it's a Wednesday. In fact Wednesdays are so awful in Camelot they should be prohibited; yes, Merlin's going to address that issue with Arthur as soon as possible. Perhaps the Prince could make a law about it once he's King and replace Wednesdays with magic and executioners with unicorns and let the guards play fetch with little dragons - and then everybody would be happy.

So, no, there haven't been. Any Wednesdays that could be considered normal, that is.

Anyway, it's a Wednesday when a brown white-spotted owl all of a sudden lands on the frame of the opened window to Arthur's chambers, claws making a tapping noise against the wooden board.

The prince's reaction is rather comely: he startles at the noise and jumps up from where he's laying on the bed reading a Very Important Document (i.e. taking a nap), draws his sword and stumbles on the curtain, pulling it all down onto himself making a total mess. He tries fighting it off with battle cries, swinging his sword at the fabric.

Merlin is less startled and puts the pile of tunics he's just folded, into the wardrobe, and calmly walks over to the bird, intrigued. He ignores the prince – he'll be fine anyhow, it's not some dangerous enemy, just a curtain and an owl. The bird's kind of cute and makes happy sounds when the servant scratches it head.

"Hello there, birdie. What are you doing here?"

The owl blinks tiredly at the warlock and offers its leg, to which piece of parchment has been tied.

"Oh! Look Arthur, it's got a note." Gently he unties and unrolls it. "It's some kind of message."

By this time Arthur has managed to untangle himself from the bed curtains and stalks forward with intent, taking the parchment from his servant before Merlin has a proper chance to read it. So instead he hovers on Arthur's shoulder. "What's it saying?" he asks curiously.

"Something about an important meeting between the 'last free peoples of Middle-earth' … Middle earth?" Arthur's eyebrows make another comical display in a series of quickly shifting facial expressions. "It's an invitation, a 'special invitation' it says, though what that means I'm not sure ... And the meeting is in twelve days, in the valley of … Hmm. I've never heard of  _that_  place …" At the bottom of the letter there are several PS:s like  _'Do not forget to bring your best weaponry'_  and  _'Oh and extra socks because it might get cold'_ and the letter is signed by an elaborate G.

"What place?" Merlin asks, nearly bouncing by now.

"It's called Rivendell (or Imladris, it says in parenthesis - why does it have  _two_  names? How silly), one which I've never heard, read or seen on any map. Ever heard of it? Maybe Gaius has mentioned it?"

The warlock shakes his head, wide-eyed. "No, I've no clue."

The owl, which hasn't left yet, takes a leap from the windowsill and lands on Merlin's shoulder which Arthur finds a bit annoying (why does the stupid bird prefer Merlin to him when it shouldn't? He's the prince so if there's anyone the bird should like more it's him!) But then the owl uses its beak to tug at the parchment, revealing a second beneath it: a map.

"Oh! That's convenient. Thank you, birdie," Merlin exclaims and pats the owls head, causing the bird to purr. The animal is very sweet and Merlin really likes it already. "Can we keep it?" he asks Arthur making his best doe eyes.

"No. You've already got one, remember! It needs to be sent home."

It'd been a birthday gift last year, actually from Arthur, albeit it was kind of embarrassing to give gift to one's servant so he'd left it anonymously. (Merlin had his suspicions though.)

"Yes, but Archimedes is so lonely sometimes, I'm sure he'd like a friend and this one's so  _cuuute-"_

" _No_ , Merlin!"

The warlock pouts, but Arthur's got a point…The owl might have other owners that misses it. It would be mean taking it from them, which is stealing and that's not very nice. But it's so  _cute._  Especially when it blinks tiredly up at him and purrs, he's certain it likes him and now it's snuggling into his neckerchief. Maybe he could convince the prince to let the owl travel with them, at least? That way it'll get home to its rightful owners.

Arthur just gives him one last warning glare before heading toward the throne room.

()()()

"Yes, it might be important," King Uther hums, drumming his fingers against the throne. "Such a meeting could be dangerous to miss. We might gain new powerful allies."

"I should go," Arthur says. "I'll take Merlin with me."

"Very well," the king of Camelot consents, "but be on your guard! You don't know what dangers there might be ... there might be  _sorcery_ involved."

The prince holds back a snort and a sarcastic remark; after all he's got Merlin with him who's so clumsy he'll probably prove to be the biggest danger during the journey. The servant usually causes so much trouble, even without taking his magic into account. No, wait:  _especially_  when taking his magic into account.

Instead he nods his head in respect and says, "Yes, father. We'll ride in an hour."

"Don't forget to bring me back those allies!"

()()()

"Now, let's see … according to this map it's pretty straightforward. North. Then northeast through this mountain pass … There's a mountain there? I didn't know that - Well, all right, it seems legit. Have you finished packing yet?"

"No, because I don't know  _what_  to pack. Will it be cold, will it be hot…?"

The prince rolls his eyes as he folds the parchment and puts it in a satchel, before he pulls his chainmail over his head. "We're not going on a _holiday_ ,  _Mer_ lin."

"Oh," Merlin murmurs kind of disappointed. He's finally had a chance to read that letter and it describes as a very nice place, with beautiful scenery and lots of rivers; he would have liked bringing some quill and parchment so he could make some quick drawings of it, to show Gaius later when he comes home.

Suddenly Arthur turns toward him. "That owl, Merlin. Has it been set free to fly back where it's come from?"

Merlin nods and smiles in a hopefully convincing way. "Yup."

The prince's eyes narrows. " _Merlin_ …"

"It has, I swear!"

"Right. Good. Archimedes isn't going either, by the way."

"But Arthur…!"

()()()

It takes eleven days to reach the mountain pass and Arthur is steadily gaining a headache from Merlin's constant chattering. Usually he complains a lot but on this journey he's been so excited and full of energy, like a child visiting the marketplace. It was endearing the first few days but now, Arthur just wishes he could start complaining like usual or insult him just once or simply be quiet - any of these options would work. They would bring variation.

Also there's sometimes there suspicious chirping noises coming from one of Merlin's saddlebags, at which Merlin always mutter something on his breath and looks away and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. But when he searches the bags later on they're always empty … absolutely empty and Merlin looks completely innocent.

At least it's not snowing or storming or anything else bothersome.

The mountain pass is one of many on the map. Arthur's studied it and taken note to the strange names and places he's never heard of before. It's odd that these kingdoms haven't contacted them before but then the ruler of this Mordor place is described in the letter as a real pain in the backside; fighting him must've taken so much time and energy no one has bothered until now.

Late on the eleventh day, when the sun sets, they make camp. Merlin's magic comes in very handy, there's no need to fetch firewood and their meal starts cooking itself. Arthur's glad to be out of the saddle, stretching his legs.

There's that chirping noise again! Frowning he turns to glare at the saddlebag. It rustles and moves. Merlin leaps forward as if trying to stop something from happening, but is too late: a second later a puffy feathered head peeks up from the bag.

" _Mer_ lin!"

The warlock pats the owl's head as it stretches and flaps its wings. "Sorry, I just – I just couldn't  _leave_  him! Archimedes got real sad when I tried to and you know Gaius doesn't like him that much and he'd probably not get properly fed. He's been real good this far, he hunts on his own and cleans his feathers and everything. Haven't you, 'Medes?"

The bird chirrups happily and leans into the warlock's hand.

"And  _that_?" the prince demands pointing at the second head appearing, a pair of yellowish eyes peering out as if checking the coast is clear and diving back into the bag when noticing the angry stare its receiving.

"Arthur! Don't scare her!"

An impatient growl erupts from his throat.  _"Merlin."_  He sends his servant the infamous Explain Within Five Seconds Or I'll Have You In The Stocks-glare.

"Merthur really refused to leave me, she kept cuddling me and I thought Archimedes would like some company while we're travelling. They're rather fond of each other." As if on cue the two owls start cuddling and purring like true lovebirds. "And she needs to go back the same direction as us, so I just thought …"

The prince just sighs. Nothing could stop his idiot manservant once he's set his mind to something. "Merthur?" he asks instead, dumbly.

"Yeah, she needed a name and it was kind of tricky coming up with anything appropriate, but I couldn't just keep calling her 'bird' or 'owl' could I? Besides, she likes it."

The owl hoots approvingly.

"Honestly,  _Mer_ lin, only you would come up with something that  _ridiculous."_

Merlin smiles wide and proudly, since coming from Arthur that might actually be a compliment.

()()()

Rivendell is a very grand place – in fact Merlin has never felt so awed. It's so beautiful! So  _pretty!_ The architecture with its rounded detailed shapes and melting-into-nature effect, the golden brown of the trees, the streams and waterfalls all around the place … Not to mention the tall beautiful people that definitely can't be human aren't bad either.

They're stopped on the border by a patrol of what Arthur assumes is guards. They're dressed oddly, not in armour but in brown and green tunics. They all have bows slung over their shoulders; no spears in sights, but some have swords or daggers attached to their belts.

"Who are you and why have you come?" one of them steps forward and demands. Merlin's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. The person is flawlessly beautiful, hair like sunlight and ears curiously pointed.

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot and this is my manservant Merlin. We come on behalf of the Kingdom of Camelot, having received word of an important, secret meeting here." He hands over the letter, so the guards can confirm this themselves and the nearest one takes it and scans the words.

The people ( _What can they be? Some kind of magical beings?_  Merlin wonders;  _Their ears are so pointy!_ ) exchange surprised glances with each other.

"Mithrandir sent for them," the reader of the letter proclaims. "We can't simply forbid them access then, can we."

Another of them shrugs and mutters, "You know how odd whims those wizards so often have."

Arthur's heart skips a beat. Wizard? So this is some kind of magical land then. His father can't hear about this, not yet … he'll be furious. It cannot be risked. He glances at Merlin, who nods quietly; he heard the wizard part too.

"We could gain an ally against Camelot's enemies," the young warlock points out in a hushed voice and Arthur nods, agreeing with him.

"We just have to be subtle about it 'round my father."

"Very well," the leader of the pointy-eared people says with great authority. "Come with us. Lord Elrond is waiting."

()()()

Not far off, in a shadowed glade, a meeting is being held. A number of chairs have been placed in a circle. Scruffy-bearded men, burly short dwarves, fair pointy-eared elves and one of those tiny, hairy-footed creatures called hobbits are attending, and they are silent and tense, for today decisions will be made that will affect their whole futures.

"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here-"

An elf guard rushes in that moment, interrupting Lord Elrond's speech. "Milord, milord! Two strangers belonging to Mankind have arrived and they claim they must attend this meeting."

"Oh! So they've come," an old man with a big beard and pointy hat exclaims, smiling to himself. "Excellent."

Merlin and Arthur follow the elves' footsteps warily, glancing at the people sitting there staring at him. It's the oddest group they've seen yet; a couple of bearded men are there, and some short squat beings (dwarves?) and lots of those pointy-ears. And this short, thin person, with hairy feet – a bit like a child but with an adult's face – is sitting there as well next to the old man who just had spoken.

"Have a seat," the old man says. Conveniently there are two empty chairs next to each other there. "The meeting is just about to start."

One of the men, the blonde one, interrupts. "Who are you, strangers? Lord Elrond hasn't spoken of your coming."

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot and this is my manservant Merlin. We heard of this meeting but a fortnight ago, and hurried here, coming as soon as we had the chance."

Murmurs rise in the crowd, in several different languages.

"So it's true then," says the blonde man, whose name is actually Boromir, son of Denethor (who governs a giant, white stone-city). "It  _must_ be for you to have come. The Ring has been found." Such a conclusion is the only logical, after all, why else would so many important people be called to this rushed secret meeting in an elven hideout?

"Err, what Ring?" Merlin asks and heads turn to look at him incredulously. Merlin's ears start burning. Why do people always assume  _he's_  the stupid one? "Uh, would you please not look at me like that..."

Arthur agrees wholeheartedly, nobody looks at his Merlin whether in a sinister, inappropriate or (as now) incredulous way as if the boy's an idiot, maybe he is but that's not the point. "Yes, keep your eyes away!" he growls and they all immediately do.

The old man, Gandalf or Mithrandir he's also called, speaks with dark somberness in his voice: "The  _One Ring,_  forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom."

 _That sounds rather ominous,_  Merlin thinks as the old man, while nursing a pipe, launches into story-telling. So the meeting commences.

In-between there's also a small argument between said blonde and a dark haired man named Aragorn about Kingship and royal bloodlines, and between the elves and dwarves about who's the best of – yes - elves and dwarves, a centuries old argument none of them will ever win it seems.

"So basically," Arthur sums up, "there's the Ring of Doom made by the Dark Lord of Doom that needs to be destroyed in the Fires of Doom, or we're all doomed."

"Pretty much yes," Lord Elrond says and the meeting continues and somehow, at that point, Merlin asks if elves and pixies are somehow related because he saw a bunch of elves sitting in a garden on his way here, drinking tea and having a lively discussion, and they just look at him weirdly. One of the elves, some dark-haired fellow named Elladan or whatever, is  _way_  too flirtatious when explaining to the servant that no, elves and pixies haven't familiarized for at least eighteen hundred years (the elves tired of all the lemon tea and the pixies were tired of the green herbal tea, not to mention they never fancied the same type of cookies).

There are gestures and leaning in and smug smiles and other sorts of things the Prince of Camelot does  _not_  like when it's directed at Merlin. Arthur positively wants to gauge the elf's eyes out but is hindered by a rather distressed hobbit named Frodo stands to announce that  _he_  is to take the Ring and destroy it in the Fires of Mount Doom deep in Mordor which frankly is not a very nice place. Especially by the sounds of the foul orcs or the nasty poisonous fumes and large burning eye that can see through all kinds of matter, that Boromir adamantly keeps talking about."

As per usual when there's something awfully dangerous to be done, Merlin doesn't hesitate.

()()()

"You  _idiot!"_  Arthur shouts. "You complete and utter buffoon! You shouldn't have done that!"

"But I want to help!"

"Getting yourself killed on a suicide mission isn't helping!"

"But my magic can get pretty useful. Admit it," Merlin defends himself, "Sauron doesn't sound very nice and we can't let him get his hands (not that has he has any actual,  _physical_ hands since he's just a big fiery eye … without any actual limbs ... But you get what I mean, right?) on the Ring."

Arthur growls and grumbles and paces back and forth, tearing at his hair in frustration. Why is his servant such a self-sacrificing, too kind idiot who volunteers for stupid things like this? He shouldn't have without Arthur's permission! What if something happens to him, if he gets hurt?

He can't let that happen. Thus, he must come with him, it's the only logical thing. He needs to watch Merlin's back. Yes, his father can wait for news a bit longer. Maybe he can send an owl or something. He must make up a legit explanation first, though; the King will  _never_  accept his son going on this Quest, not to help some probably magical folks destroy this very magical Ring (well maybe Uther would like the destroying part), especially not to guard a  _servant_.

"I'm going, you can't stop me!" Merlin continues to rant.

"All right, all right," Arthur sighs at last. "I'm going with you. And you're going to stay in my sight at  _all times_  - no exceptions. And the owls are staying here! Period."

"But  _Arthur…!"_

()()()

They have to wait for a few days before leaving on the Quest. Originally, the preparations were planned to take a few months but Arthur's impatient and Merlin's impatient and the latter also can make awfully effective doe eyes that not even the elves are immune to.

Arthur isn't that certain he likes the elves. Sure, on the comfort side he has no complaints, the elves knows well how to treat their guests: the food is outstanding and the beds are brilliant and springy and there's hot tea to be served whenever he likes it.

But the looks they give Merlin … The elves seem so  _drawn_  to him. They pull him in and talk to him for hours with their hands on the servant's elbow, and who knows what they would try to do if Arthur let them out of his sight …!

No, he definitely does  _not_  like it.

It's no better that the hobbits – the short, hair-footed, smoke-loving beings – also seem to have attached themselves to Merlin like leeches and ask him to join them for pick-nicks and dinners and brunch, constantly ignoring Arthur's warning glares and even out loud orders for them not to approach  **his**  servant. Merlin just smiles and agrees to come. The dwarf Gimli and the wizard are there sometimes as well, but Arthur is almost  _never_  invited – only when Merlin suggests it, otherwise they ignore Arthur despite him being King-to-be. It's not fair and they aren't  _allowed_  to look at Merlin like that!

Enough is enough. A man has his limits. Arthur finds his when, three days after the not-so-secret meeting, Merlin is sitting in one of the many elaborate, maze-like garden near a riverbank with a group of elves, including that blonde one who first found them (Glorfindel or Goldilocks or whatever his name is) and that other blonde who's going with them (apparently also a prince, from a Mirkwood place, but Arthur couldn't care less), laughing and sharing stories and the elves are  _far_  too hands-on.

It causes the prince to storm across the yard and grab Merlin, seeing red. As he haul him away from the pointy-eared people, yelling at him for being a stupid idiot ("We were just sharing childhood stories!" the warlock protests), they both completely miss the knowing glances and nods the elves share with each other.

Not that Arthur's jealous or anything. He's just protecting Merlin's virtue, that's all, it's just a friendly gesture; after all it's a master's responsibility to look after their servants especially if said servants are idiots who doesn't know how to look after themselves.

()()()

The company of nine plus two (Lord Elrond is in a bit of a twist that his splendid plan of nine Black Riders versus nine Fellowship members has been crushed by the not-so-unexpected arrivals) sets out from Rivendell.

To Arthur, it's a relief really when they leave that Rivendell place, considering Merlin, even if he'll miss sleeping in a proper bed and being served excellent food every day. Maybe he should've let the elven cooks make a book of recopies for him to bring home, to show the Head Cook of Camelot castle.

Now, why they have to walk instead of ride, Arthur doesn't know but he'd like to have a  _serious word_  with whoever came up with that idea. Merlin will start complaining in just a few hours, he's sure of that, that he's hungry and tired and have aching feet. And then Merlin's feet will get cold as well because he has these really awfully thin boots that aren't made for walking. And then they'll have to stop every two hours in addition to stop for sleep and food and then it'll take at least five years to reach Mordor, and by then Arthur will have grown a stupid beard and will be ridiculous tired of this whole thing and, finally, he'll demand to turn back, dragging the warlock with him ignoring all protests.

They really should have horses. The pony doesn't count; it's too small and carrying so many packs that even Merlin who's skinnier than a  _stick_ could ride it. (He should get fed better food. What  _does_  Gaius give him? The old man is supposed to be a physician, surely he must realize there's hardly any nutrition in that gruel! Yes, as soon as possible Arthur's going to make sure Merlin is better fed, maybe give him his own portion of sausage and tomatoes next time they stop for a breather.)

So, they walk. And if anyone notices Arthur glancing back at his servant every six minutes (just in case), they don't comment on it.

()()()

Hobbits are really nice creatures to talk to. They talk about gardening and families and food, yes,  _food_  is probably their favourite topic and they're so good at making long and deep elaborate descriptions of their favourite meals, meals they want to have and some meals they've never even had but wants to, that it makes Merlin's mouth water and his stomach grumble. It's such a pity they can't even light a fire, having to hide from spies on both two and four and no legs, that could be hiding anywhere. He'll probably never have a chance to have a taste of Sam's famous rabbit stew (with potatoes) that said hobbit's friends speak so warmly off.

They crack awesome jokes too, but once they run out of that, Merlin takes amusement in watching the stout dwarf Gimli argue with the fair elf Legolas, despite Gandalf's chiding them.

Arthur watches that too but if that fails to brighten him, then he'll turn to Merlin, call him an idiot and be given a response of "Well you are a dollophead!" always makes him smile.

In their company, aside from the dwarf, elf, wizard and four hobbits, there are two men, Aragorn and Boromir. They argue quite a lot as well, but quietly, so Arthur cannot make out the details. He could bet it's about something ridiculous, like the sizes of swords or inheritances. He's heard conversations about that among his knights countless of times. Not that he partakes, of course not, he's a prince and princes have some dignity.

()()()

"We have to go  _there_?" Merlin asks, choking, pointing up the mountain. It's very large and snow-covered and now his boots truly will be a pathetic cover on his poor feet.

As soon as they get back to Camelot Arthur will order the cobbler to make Merlin some new pair of  _real_  boots and also buy he'll him two new pairs of thick socks for him to wear underneath. That should keep him warm.

"We must avoid Saruman's spies, and we have to cross the mountains," Gandalf says soberly, and the entire group stares aghast at the tall wide snow-covered mass of stone. "Either over or under it."

"All of that?" Merlin cries, aghast, gesturing wildly at the mountains which are very large and very tall and intimidating and very, very snowy and probably freezing and, and, and Gandalf wants them to _cross that on foot?_ "That's craziness - total craziness!"

"Shut up and stop being such a girl's petticoat, Merlin," Arthur says.

"I'll  _turn you_  a girl's petticoat," the warlock grumbles on his breath but the Prince has already walked past and isn't able to hear him.

()()()

Harsh winds whip around them and it doesn't matter how hard and long he presses his hands over his ears, they still get red and icy cold.

"I wish we'd gone  _under_  the mountain," Merlin groans and Arthur quietly agrees, but has not the energy to answer, worn out by all this walking. Chainmail, he's discovered, is not at keeping the heat. Instead of answering he just presses Merlin close like the hobbits does with each other, and nobody is warm enough to comment.

Except the elf, who walks atop the snow as if he's walking across a summer meadow filled with flowers, and Arthur wishes he could hit him for being so arrogant and cheerful.  _Nobody_ should be so cheerful when Merlin's feet are so bloody cold.

()()()

On the way up they're stopped and have to turn on their heels, go back down and start over. The octopus monster complicates matters a little, as does the firstly hidden doors that glows only in starlight and moonlight ("What kinds of idiots build doors that can't be found?" Arthur mutters at that. "No wonder this place is abandoned.") but under the mountain they get.

The mines of Moria are dark and dank and grand, but mostly dark, and so deadly quiet, Arthur keeps his hand on his sword at all times and the other tightly wrapped around Merlin's elbow, refusing to let go. It takes several days and they have to pause a lot either due to Gandalf being unsure of the way or the hobbits are hungry. Mostly it's the latter.

Then, like the icing on the cake, there's the bloody monster that's made out of fire and is fifteen feet tall and cracking a fiery whip in a menacing way. With a growl, it reaches out and drags Gandalf with it down into the abyss, too fast for Merlin to react with his magic and save the day.

Arthur isn't that fond of Middle-Earth anymore.

"Oh crap," Merlin groans, when they barely can make it across half-broken bridges that all start trembling and breaking apart under their feet. "I wish we'd gone  _over_  the mountain."

()()()

The forest of Lothlórien is full of elves, and Arthur is even more wary than in Rivendell. The looks those elves had given Merlin had been unnerving; now, they're outright  _creepy_. The lady in white doesn't help matters.

" _Welcome, Prince Pendragon."_

"Oh my god you're in my head!" Arthur gasps and clenches his head. She has to be a sorceress or a druid! Or both! And all sorceresses he's met so far have tried to kill him one manner or another. Fuu-

" _Your destiny awaits you,"_  Lady Galadriel says next in the same mysterious tone.  _"You just have to take the first step towards it and keep a close eye on your Warlock, to make sure there's no misstep. For you are two sides of the same coin. Without one another neither will succeed."_

Another voice invades his mind but it's less unpleasant when he realizes that it's Merlin, all chipper and curious and not at all suspicious or angry or even annoyed:  _"Oh! Have you met the Great Dragon? He also talks about coins a lot."_

" _Why must you all be inside my head? Can't you have your discussion privately?"_ Arthur cries, and then backtracks when realizing that would mean  **his**  Merlin talking with the elf all on his own and Arthur certainly doesn't like  **that.**   _"I mean – nevermind, keep talking here, I don't mind."_

" _Oh, I know him; he makes some very good tea,"_  the elf queen answers the servant and smiles and Arthur shivers, fearing how deep the dragon's infiltration of this place might have gone.

()()()

"What's this, a bird bath?" the Prince of Camelot exclaims as he finds the meadow in the labyrinth of trees and glades and gardens, full of elves hiding in the shadows. It's the middle of the night, and he's slept for barely three hours and not had this usual morning cup of milk with honey so he's not in the mood for this. Besides, now when the Lady elf has dragged him here, away from camp, it means Merlin is left  _all alone_  … "I find this abysmally rude! Waking me in the middle of night just to go and see a  _bird bath_!"

"This is no manner of bath," the Lady elf says and she might be somewhat affronted now. "This is the Mirror of Galadriel."

"Mirror?"

Arthur stares into the watery surface but there's no handsome blonde fellow staring back at him, so he sighs and starts backing away. But then the surface ripples and the lights within it change, making shapes and colours:

"What the—is that …  _Gwaine_? Talking with the dragon! And what's that thing doing on the  _throne_?"

"Keep watching," the elven queen intones softly and Arthur is  _very_  close to grabbing his sword and smashing the surface of the stupid mirror, which is somehow magical and not his friend.

Then, the next thing he sees is Merlin. Merlin with large, sad, scared eyes, lying crumbled on the floor without moving and himself, tall and dark-eyed with a huge crown on his head looming above him with a burning whip in his hand, something golden gleaming on his finger. It's terrifying to look at and he gasps, absolutely horrified and tries diving into the water and come out on the other side, and pull Merlin away from that cruel fate. But he only manages to smack his forehead against the edge of the stone basin and nearly knock himself out.

"I know what you saw," Galadriel says once the man has regained his bearings.

"What was that?" he shouts angrily and tries reaching for his sword, only to realize he's forgotten it back at camp.  _Damn it!_

"A possible future - one of many. For if you fail this quest and your destiny, that is what will happen."

A sudden sharply makes his way through his body. The bloody dragon ruling Camelot and drinking ale with Gwaine and, and  _Merlin –_ there, all  _alone_  and cold while some shadow-version of Arthur sat on a distant throne, dressed in black and with a golden ring on his finger and an evil smirk on his face – he doesn't want to think of it.  _When I get home I'll have a talk with Gwaine. And the dragon. And put guards around them,_ the King-to-be firmly decides.  _And have a squadron of guards around Merlin too, but for a different reason._

"Try taking the Ring, and you'll fail your destiny once and for all and doom all of Albion, young Pendragon, and you'll lose Merlin forever."

"Uh," a voice suddenly groans, tiredly, breaking the tension and a figure dressed in a nightshirt appears, rubbing at his eyes. "Did somebody just say my name? Arthur? What're you doing here? … Is that a bird bath?"

"Why is it that every Man or Hobbit I meet can  _never_  recognize a simple mirror?" the elf says sounding annoyed. Why though Arthur can't comprehend. Of course he recognizes mirrors! He looks into them nearly every day, after all.

()()()

"I thought the Lothlórien elves were very nice," Merlin says when they leave the forest in pale light boats, down the river toward wherever is next. Arthur has been too busy looking after and protecting – no, simply keeping an eye on, he's the prince, not a  _babysitter_  – his idiot manservant to ask where they're headed next.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Of course you do, you like everything, even the dragon!"

"He  _is_  nice. Well, most of time, when he isn't angry or in that creepy stalking mood," the warlock pouts at him and the dwarf whips head around to stare at them.

"You know a  _dragon_?" Gimli gasps, horrified.

Apparently dragons here in Middle-earth haven't been that friendly, at least to dwarves or men or elves, and now they have all been eradicated. Saddened at such a thought, Merlin wonders what's happened to the Dragonlords and why they weren't around to keep the dragons in check, but the others in the Fellowship just stares at him blankly when he asks.

"Unfortunately we do," Arthur answers the dwarf's question, "and it's a giant pain in the a—"

"Don't listen to him, he's a dollophead," Merlin hurries to say. "Kilgarrah's nice though he likes riddles and never gives you straight answers. There are baby dragons too, you should see them sometime, they're so cute!"

"I know of a dragon too!" Pippin exclaims excitedly. "The Green Dragon!"

"That's a pub, not a real dragon," his friend Merry reminds him.

"Oh," the other hobbit murmurs sadly. "Well, there was this dragon at Bilbo's birthday party – you remember that, don't you, Merry?"

"Yeah," sighs Merry. "There must've been  _thousands_  of dirty plates that Gandalf made us wash after we borrowed that piece of firework."

()()()

Apparently not are there orcs here, but worse races and they hoard the place like a wild raging pack (well they are one so it's not a surprise). Arthur swings his sword left and right, cursing and wondering why he didn't just drag Merlin by the scruff of his neck away from Rivendell and back to Camelot to start with.

"Where's Frodo?" is the general question after the fight's ended and there's a lot of worry and discussion evolving around that.

Well, it's not that important to Arthur.

"Merlin, _where the hell have you been?"_ he demands and hovers over the warlock as he appears from a bush, dirty and hair ruffled. He quickly checks the servant for injuries and luckily there are none save for a scratch across his cheek and Arthur really wants to strangle him for running off like that. "You idiot!"

"I, uh, tried calling for Kilgarrah so he could help us…?" It sounds more like an unsure question than a statement and Merlin's staring at him with large doe eyes again, and even if he's furious something in Arthur's chest starts melting at the sight.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" he grunts out, struggling to remain angry. "Like  _before_  the battle?"

"He didn't answer," Merlin says with a pout. "He never appeared and then when I got back the fight was over."

"Guys," Gimli appears on the left cutting the argument off, "we've got a problem."

()()()

"So the Ring's gone with Frodo and Sam, Boromir's dead and Merry and Pippin have been captured by crazy mutant orcs with white paint on their faces," Arthur summarizes while counting on his fingers. "That's ... not good."

"What do we do now?" Merlin asks while thinking,  _Please don't say 'run far away for a really long while without pauses or horses to catch those mutant orcs', because my feet are already hurting, please don't say …_

"Let's hunt some orc!" Aragorn suggests and - agreeing wholeheartedly - the elf and dwarf runs off with the ranger into the woods, all eager to find their captured friends and kill the ones the responsible. Arthur groans but reluctantly follows, since he's an honourable man and Knight and won't abandon even the most annoying creatures to their death and the hands of the orcs.

"Come on, Merlin!" he says impatiently and tugs on the warlock's arm.

"… I guess it's too late to suggest using magic," Merlin mutters and sets off after them.

()()()

After some troublesome days on a vast, yellowish plain – whereupon they met some riders from whom they finally got their hands on some horses so Merlin could rest his feet and Arthur worry a little bit less, but only a little bit - they reach another forest. While Lothlórien was mysterious and light, this one is mysterious and dark even if Legolas seems to like it a lot. Apparently he likes talking to trees. Merlin wishes he knew how to do that.

But, the warlock is too exhausted ask that. When the others start dismounting to go into the forest his protests are nearly violent. "No!  _Please!_  No more walking or running or other stuff on foot!"

"Don't be such a girl,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur retorts and the warlock just stares at him. How can the prince have the energy to stand? He's dressed in a ridiculously heavy and hot chainmail and everything and he's run for  _miles_! He should collapse any moment now, not stand there  _smirking_  at him!

"Besides," the prince adds, "coming on this quest was your idea. Frankly I'm shocked. You usually hate all kinds of quests or other adventures."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time!" Merlin cries and clings to the saddle, refusing to climb down. Abandoning the 'whine until Arthur gives in' plan, he picks up the next weapon in his arsenal which is 'look cute and pout until Arthur gives in'.

Not-so-reluctantly (because he hates seeing Merlin uncomfortable in any manner and, anyway, it's for the sanity of them all; he'll spare the rest of the Fellowship from much suffering by not having Merlin complain continuously) the Prince of Camelot gives in and lets Merlin ride, and they enter the dank deep forest, Arthur leading the horse by the reins.

"When we're back in Camelot I'm going to make you scrub every hallway till I see my reflection in the stone, for having the stupid idea of going on this Quest and dragging me with you," Arthur says warningly. "You never cease being an idiot,  _Mer_ lin."

"Well, you're a dollophead, sire," Merlin shots back as quickly as an arrow, and the prince twists his head to growl at the dwarf, elf and other man who all sends them amused looks.

"Not a word!" he growls at them, warningly.

"I wouldn't dare," Gimli says hands up and Arthur can almost bet that he and the elf, who's suddenly become best buddies, huddle up at night and make up juvenile, romantic stories about the Prince and his servant just like the knights of Camelot. It's a dreadful habit. Really, they gossip even more than the servants of the castle.

()()()

Something white appears in the woods so suddenly that Merlin's horse rears and he nearly falls off, staying in the saddle only thanks to some quietly whispered magic words.

"You're alive!" Arthur cries in shock. But how? Men don't just rise from the dead like that!

Wait. Unless there's magic. Well,  _of course_  there's magic. The Prince slaps a palm in his face; how could he be so stupid not to think of that?

"Indeed I am," Gandalf, now white instead of grey, answers. "Now we must hurry to Edoras, and free King Théoden."

"Free?" Merlin asks, wide-eyed. "He's been kidnapped?"

"Not quite. Saruman and his servant Worm-tongue has him trapped with a spell."

"Another evil sorcerer, another evil enchantment to break, and I'm not even surprised!" Arthur grumbles. "Why are there always more bad guys than good guys?"

Likewise, Merlin isn't that happy to hear about another dark magic having to be broken but that's something he can actually do, and so far he's done pretty much nothing to help in this quest. Arthur is the one with the sword and thus, like in Moria, he'll always jump in front of him and defend him from the very evil orcs and other dark things lurking out there, instead of letting Merlin pick up a sword and do it himself. He's so stubborn Merlin wonders sometimes why he's not sprouted donkey ears yet – the incident with the goblin doesn't count!

()()()

Then there are some ten thousand soldiers on the march toward them set on destroying first Edoras and then the rest of Mankind.

His day is just getting better and better isn't it?

Ten thousand –  _ten thousand_  - mutant orcs led by this crazed wizard with sudden, almost maddening crave for power and now he's going to attack this little peasant kingdom that only have horses but no proper knights and this uppity King who brags about his unbreakable Keep and, yes, frankly Arthur thinks they are very royally very quite much screwed.

"Don't be so pessimistic," Merlin says when fitting him into his armour. "Look on the bright side. You've got  _me_ to help you."

"God help me."

"And my magic."

Well.  _That_  might be somewhat of an advantage.

()()()

Dwarf, elf and men stare at him in disbelief. "Magic? You're a wizard?"

"You could've mentioned it a bit earlier, laddie," adds Gimli and takes a huff on his pipe.

"Warlock," Merlin says, "it's called warlock. I know it's confusing, I mean, I've been called sorcerer countless times before, thought wizard is a new word to me but, anyway, the difference is a warlock is  _born_  with their powers while a sorcerer-"

Arthur rushes into the hall interrupting them, glaring at the elf, dwarf and all of the Rohan people that have gathered around the warlock, and they automatically take a step back. "There's no time to discuss etymology or whatnot now. The enemy is coming!"

()()()

Shielding wards are nice to have but not very useful when you're trying to kill Uruks or orcs. Or any kind of creature, really. Well, maybe it is, but not in a direct weapon-like kind of way that Arthur would prefer.

Throughout the battle, it rains and thunder clashes in the distance, and the wet keeps getting in his eyes making it difficult to see and his chainmail heavy. Why does it  _always_  rain during battles? Honestly, he can't recall ever fighting a war under sunlight. (Not that it'd be possible now either, it's nighttime after all.) No wonder his armour always starts to rust.

But thanks to the wards that Merlin's placed on him (and possible everyone in Edoras' army), he receives only minor injuries. Well, until the Uruk-Hai bloody  _blast the wall apart_.

"Merlin!" he shouts over the chaos and sees his manservant sending a large ladder full of enemies crashing down to the ground with the snap of his fingers. "Stop them from getting into the Keep!"

So Merlin does.

But wait.

Why has everyone around except the two of them stopped moving entirely?

"I said stop the Uruks, not  _time itself_! How clumsy can you be?"

"Oops, sorry."

Merlin's eyes flash gold and lets time and motion flow again, for the humans at least, and then it takes just five or ten minutes before the battle's well won and over with. It doesn't take long for the sky to clear and then it's suddenly dawn and brilliant sunshine falls onto the valley and birds chipper at the distance.

"Thank god," Arthur breathes out, sinking onto the ground. "I thought it'd never end."

"But, the battle was only like fifteen minutes long," Merlin says somewhat confused. "Or ten. I didn't count that carefully, I mean."

Not long thereafter, a large company of horse riders arrive lead by a previously exiled Éomer, all of them heavily armed. They're a bit disgruntled however to find the battle won, the Keep throughout cleaned from the battle, all enemies' bodies burned and the field which twenty minutes ago only contained brown grass is now full of white and red flowers. Merlin regards his handiwork with a pleased smile, not seeing how the Middle-earthians stare at him mouths agape.

"Honestly, you're such a girl,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur says and scowls when spotting something white and horse-like near the horizon. "If that's a unicorn, then I'll ..."

"No, look!" Merlin exclaims excitedly. "It's Gandalf! Ooh, I can't wait to exchange magic tricks with him. Though I hope he's not as tight-lipped about it as Gaius ... or full of riddles like the dragon ..."

"Oh gods _no,"_  Arthur groans and buries his face in his hands.

()()()

"So where off to next?" Arthur asks merrily and digs into another steak: it's his favourite and it's a feast, so he's got every excuse.

"Be careful with those," Merlin intones from his right, "we don't want to put another hole in your belt." And he ducks just in time to avoid being hit by a goblet.

"To Minas Tirith in Gondor," answers the White Wizard. Ah, yes, the city Pippin saw in the Palantir, that round black stone-thing, which is most probably magic.  _Everything_ is most probably magic in this land. "There we'll have a word with the steward and wait for Frodo and Sam to destroy of the Ring. Pippin and I shall ride at dawn."

"Can I come with you?"

Arthur glares at his servant. "Merlin, NO."

"But, I want to see it! Don't you remember it's supposed to be awfully large and beautiful and made out of white stone and built on levels and –"

" _Shut_.  _Up_ ," Arthur commands and begins gnashing teeth, appetite totally gone. His warlock shouldn't speak so warmly and dreamily of any city or kingdom or place but Arthur's city and kingdom! No, the Prince cannot stand it. And Merlin definitely isn't to go there without Arthur, or anywhere without Arthur, because he doesn't like it. No, not at all.

Merlin's right in front of him now, hands knotted. "Please?  _Please_ , Arthur?"

Those blue, wonderful eyes go bigger and bigger like those of a doe. Brilliant and glistening with unshed tears. A heavy lump starts forming in the Prince's throat.

"Pretty pretty please, Arthur?"

 _It's not fair,_  the Prince laments in quiet agony;  _who allowed him to look so damn cute?_

()()()

All right, so Minas Tirith is a pretty grand city. (Nowhere as fine as Camelot though, Arthur is very adamant in this opinion and nothing will make him change his mind.) It's actually quite comfortable. The beds are real and proper and finally he can have that hot wonderful bath he's longed for for weeks and afterward be served a hot meal, with dessert.

Convincing Denethor that, yes, he's really a Prince, isn't very difficult once he says Pendragon, apparently the man has some connections or at least claims to have 'Seen' Pendragon before albeit never having met one in person and Arthur doesn't quite understand how that's supposed to have happened. (Hmm … probably more magic is involved.)

Anyhow he's finally welcomed like the royal he is. For that, he quite could've liked Denethor. But he doesn't. Because honestly, the guy is rather creepy, with the constant black cloaks and dark glares at everyone who isn't royal and his obsession with the broken Horn of Gondor. And he sneers at Merlin in a manner that Arthur would've run the man through for, if he wasn't the Almost-King of a rather powerful kingdom that Camelot probably doesn't want as their enemy.

But, he's near the limit now. And his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword everyone anyone gets too close.

"It's like with the elves, isn't it, you didn't like them either," Merlin says when Arthur complains for the thirteenth time or so later that night, while the Prince is bathing and the servant making the bed and fluffing up the pillows that way Arthur prefers them. "You don't like anyone here, do you?"

"Of course I do!" Arthur retorts. "Gimli for example, he's a very nice chap."

"Only because you can intimidate him by threatening to send dragons on him if he says or does anything disagreeable or comes to close to me or, well, anything else you don't like - which is  _very_  mean, Arthur. And very rude."

"It's just a precaution," the Prince defends himself and stands from the bath, taking his time to dry up before wrapping himself in a towel and smirking smugly when Merlin suddenly gasps and then goes very quiet.

"Then," he continues good-naturedly, sensing Merlin's staring open-mouthedly at him, "there's Aragorn, he's not too bad either once you get to know him. Since he's betrothed and all to this elven lady and won't go near you. I'm not so sure about the elf, though, he's got this look about him I don't really trust. What do you think,  _Mer_ lin? Or can't you think of it now, is your mind too ...  _preoccupied_ at the moment?"

He flashes his bicep in a hopefully suggestive way.

Merlin has  _got_  to get it. Honestly. Anybody with a brain the size of a beetle should get it.

Apparently, Merlin doesn't get it. Or he does but thinks he's hallucinating. Either way, he looks like he wants to dig a hole in the earth and hide forever, face red and he inches toward the door instead of jumping Arthur's bones.

"What? Yes. I mean – no! I mean, err. I need to. Uhm." Heat spreads all the way up to the tip of his ears; Arthur's skin is kind of distracting. "Err. Go. Away." Improvising – he's never been too good at doing it in a convincing manner. Then he remembers the hobbit that's just gone and become some sort of guard, or maybe knight, of Gondor, and is determined to fight in the upcoming battle. "And visit Pippin and have a pep-talk about the upcoming battle … Yeah – I've got to do. That."

He flees the chamber before Arthur can jump forward and stop him.

"Damn it!" rages the Once and Future Prat; "How can he choose a hobbit over  _me_?" No, this is even less acceptable than Merlin wanting to go on this stupid quest in the first place!

()()()

"Another battle? Already? They never seem to end!"

"Stop whining, _Mer_ lin."

()()()

Sometime later when standing upon a filled-to-the-brim battle-field, where there are both men and horses and orcs and other manners of strange creatures, a warlock suddenly pauses in mid-spell and points toward the horizon and the nearing shadows.

"Oh, Arthur, look! Those huge creatures over there, they're large like houses, and those black dragon-like things! What  _are_  those?"

"How should _I_  know? You're the one with magic - can't it tell you?" Arthur retorts and raises his sword to parry an opponent's blow.

In response there's only another excited cry of: "Is that a  _blue dragon_  in the sky? Oh wait - it just passed by, maybe it had something more important to do." and "Look, look, a ghost army's coming from the river!"

"I'm kind of  _busy_  right now." The prince turns on the spot to cut down another enemy, and another, and another and he's steadily building a pile of orc bodies around him. Meanwhile Merlin is throwing around strange words and funny-looking sparkling lights and other sorts of magic that looks amusing but are deadly to anyone unfortunate to be in its way.

Fortunately the ghost army appears to be friends, led by none other than a disheveled ranger, a dwarf and an elf. Quickly the tide of the battle turns, and with the help of the riders of Rohan, the Gondorian army gains the advantage against the armies of Sauron.

Gimli passes them by after a while, looking pleased. "I'm on 35 kills."

"39!" cries Legolas the elf behind him, triumphantly, while climbing down from one of the large, gray four-legged creatures.

"Hmph," the dwarf grunts, "that still only counts as one!"

"1049," Merlin replies, flicking his wrist, "or something. I started to lose count around 570."

"But you're using magic," Gimli says, suddenly a lot less pleased. "That's cheating!"

()()()

After the battle has been dealt with, and they've rested for a bit and washed off and eaten, Arthur sits by the table in their chamber in the Gondorian castle, an empty parchment before him. He's not sure about how to word the letter he plans on sending to his father. After all, while wanting to brief him on what's happened, he doesn't want to mention magic or elves or hobbits or dwarves – though  _maybe_  dwarves, possibly, they're not  _that_  magical, they're just strangely short and bulky – but absolutely not any very magical rings.

From where he's lighting the fireplace, Merlin asks, glancing at him; "D'you reckon the Ring will be destroyed anytime soon?"

"I dearly hope so. We've been gone for weeks. Father will be mad; I promised to be back within the month."

"Well, yeah," Merlin says and shudders at the unwilling thought coming to mind; "if the King will be that, I fear to think how  _Gaius_  will react…"

Arthur feels with him and wraps an arm around the warlock's shoulders to comfort him, and for once Merlin doesn't make a fuss.

()()()

Not many hours later, completely ignoring the nicely fluffed pillows lying neatly on his bed, the Prince of Camelot proceeds to hunt down his idiot servant wearing only a nightshirt and an old pair of breeches. Because he's just heard of an unspeakable occurrence, one that must be remedied or proven false at once.

Thus, he comes crashing into the healer's wing with a loud shout of: "MERLIN!"

The servant is sitting on the side of the bed where Merry lies wrapped in white blankets, recovering from his encounter with the Witch King of Angmar. Pippin is next to him reading from some book and they're speaking very animatedly, and when entering the room, right before everything goes silent and the healers glares at him angrily for disturbing them, Arthur thinks he picks up 'turniphead' and 'reward' and 'destiny' and other similarly themed words.

"I didn't give you permission to run off!" Arthur says angrily.

"Well nobody gave you permission to be a prat," Merlin retorts.

"I'm the Prince of Camelot, I don't  _need_  permission. Anyway that is not the point."

The warlock gives him an unimpressed glare. "Then please inform me of your point,  _sire_."

"You are my servant. Mine, not anybody else's, may they be nobles, commoners, men, immortals, have two legs or four or have horns."

"Yes. I'm aware of this," Merlin says slowly and somewhat warily. "And…?"

Arthur pins him down with burning eyes. "And then why am I hearing rumours of you  _polishing_  Aragorn's sword,  _taking care of_  Gimli's axe and  _fletching_  Legolas' arrows?!"

"It was just a nice gesture, they're friends! Plus I put some wards on them, you know, magical wards. To help in any coming battles."

"But you're MY servant! Hear that, mine! The only sword you'll ever polish is MINE!"

"… One of them beat you in a fight, didn't they?" The warlock breaks out in a knowing grin and Arthur only looks angrier at that, pouting slightly. "Oh, they  _did_!"

"No, they did NOT. They never have and never will and anyway, it was just a stupid duel, nothing serious," Arthur says firmly but a bit too quickly and Merlin hides a snigger behind his hand. "Come with me,  _now._  I order it as your prince. You haven't polished my sword or tended to my armour for  _weeks._  It's started to rust thanks to your giant incompetence. Honestly, I should have you sacked!"

Reluctantly, Merlin heaves to his feet and follows the Prince out, the two engaged in heated banter all the way.

Merry and Pippin are left staring after them wide-eyed. Then they share a look and shake their heads in unison. "Merlin was really serious about Prince Arthur being a complete pillock."

()()()

Somehow Arthur manages to write that letter and Gandalf has an owl for him to borrow - probably one he's hidden in the folds of his great white robes – to carry the word to Camelot. Merlin follows him up to a high tower to see the owl and message go.

"Apparently, we're going to ride toward the Gates of Mordor and face Sauron in a final battle," Arthur says as they watch the bird take flight.

"That's crazy!" Merlin exclaims. "Isn't he, like, amazingly dangerously powerful?"

"No, it's clever. It's a  _diversion_. Only, we don't want any casualties, preferably. So I was wondering…"

"Oh! You want me to do magic?" Merlin asks excitedly; he loves doing magic. (Who wouldn't? Except Uther, that is.)

"Yes. But it has to be big, Merlin. Awesomely big and very, very distracting so Frodo can reach Mount of Doom and destroy the bloody Ring of Doom and kill the Dark Lord of Doom once and for all. It's a  _massive_  responsibility. Get it?"

The warlock nods vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

In fact he's already got a plan. Sort of a plan. Not quite full a plan. But still, a plan.

()()()

When the dragon finally arrives - seven weeks, five days and eight hours later than Merlin first had intended it to come - it lands right before the Gates of Mordor. The tiny army sent out has waited for several long, anxious minutes for it to appear. The creature's leather wings flap dangerously close to Arthur's nose.

"You're late!" Merlin accuses.

"A dragon is never late, young warlock, nor is he early –"

"That is my line!" Gandalf interrupts and the dragon glowers at the old man. "Now, will you help us out or not?"

"Yes!" Merlin agrees. "Help us now you're finally here."

"Very well, since my Dragonlord commands it," Kilgarrah says with a little sigh and then leaps into the air again. He circles the area once, then quickly steers toward the high tower in the distance, at the top of which there's a large burning lidless eye.

"You certain that it'll work?" Arthur asks Merlin when seeing the Great Dragon fade into the dark clouds and be lost from sight.

"If should. I mean, he's fire-proof and stubborn and he's asks the most difficult, complicated riddles," answers the warlock with certainty.

()()()

"I propose a game, Sauron," Kilgarrah announces when coming eye-to-eye with said dark lord. Were he able, Sauron would've blinked in surprise at the dragon's appearance. "A riddle game."

"Very well," a ghostly voice says, seemingly coming from nowhere. (Well, logically, since the Dark Lord doesn't have a physical mouth.) "Let's hear it then..."

()()()

Meanwhile, two exhausted little hobbits reach the top of the Mountain of Doom. There's a fight with a slimy creature commonly called Gollum as well, but eventually, they manage to climb inside the mountain and get rid of the Ring.

Then Mount Doom eventually explodes, and Sauron seriously didn't see it coming - well, at least not with his physical eye - while the dragon did, being gifted with foresight and all. He flies off before the Eye implodes in a powerful wave of magic, slightly saddened that their guessing game never was finished but then again, the Dark Lord wasn't that talkative and it would have taken  _years_  for him to come up with an answer, considering how he only thought about that golden trinket of his. Even Kilgarrah doesn't have that kind of patience.

Merlin is quick to send instruction to search the remains of the mountain for two tiny (very, very tiny) two-footed beings called hobbits. They're very, very tiny indeed, and he carries them to the white stone city where the Once and Future King and his Dragonlord are waiting.

"So, the Ring's destroyed, Aragorn's about to be King and everyone's happy … Can we go home now?" Merlin asks hopefully.

"Oh thank god!" Arthur exclaims, shoulder sacking with relief. "I've been waiting for  _months_  for you to ask that!"

()()()

Meanwhile, an owl lands on the windowsill in the office of the King of Camelot, where said King is writing important documents. Coincidentally Gaius is also present, reading some old dusty book. Both men looks up and blinks at the bird in surprise and it hops into the room, landing on the table, impatiently showing its leg.

"It's a message, sire," Gaius says and unbinds it from the owl's leg.

"Very well, let's hear it."

"It's from Prince Arthur. It reads: ' _Father, I apologize for my tardiness. A lot has happened as of late. In Rivendell a meeting was held, and it was very important, concerning a journey to destroy a dangerous enemy's weapon (NOT A MAGICAL WEAPON) which had been stolen. My manservant and I felt obliged to help. Thus we were made part of a Fellowship of Nine plus Two (Lord Elrond didn't count on me and Merlin coming with them at first - anyway, it's complicated)._

_In short, we have crossed a dreadful cold mountain, made our way through a deserted mine full of dark creatures, met with forest-dwellers, horse-tamers, fought in two battles and faced a Steward/Almost-King, Denethor, whom you'd like I think except he's dead now, he wasn't entirely sane and tried to burn both himself and his son that wasn't dead but everyone thought he was. But his son, Faramir, survived and we might have an ally there as well as in some other Kings and Queens we've met – I'll brief you on that when we're back home, there's a few that might prove good allies while others ... hmm, maybe not because they're not-magic-but-quite. NOT MAGICAL, that is._

_Anyway, it's all rather complicated and I am unable to tell you all now. At the moment I'm writing this, we are waiting for word when to do our final attack upon the great enemy Sauron and hopefully we'll get rid of him once and for all thanks to two of our brave companions reaching Mt Doom and throwing an object of Great Importance into there. NO MAGIC IS INVOLVED WHATSOEVER, DO NOT WORRY. We should be back within the next few weeks, keep a steady eye out for our return. ALSO, NO MAGIC._

_~Arthur Pendragon._

_PS. Tell Gaius Merlin says hello. The idiot is annoying and stubborn as usual, and I think he's slacking off the care of my armour on purpose, my sword is getting duller. It might have to do with the owl incident, but I'm not sure. Suggest to Gaius that Merlin can clean all of his leech tanks when -_

(here another hand starts writing) _Gaius, Arthur is a giant prat and also his socks stink, and I will_ _ **not**_ _clean any leech tanks! I have done_ _ **all**_ _of the hard work on this trip using my GIFT. Arthur is mean to me again but since he's a turnip head that is no surprise. Don't listen to him, he's talking nonsense._

_Love,_

_Merlin_  (the previous handwriting returns)  _and Arthur.'"_

Uther looks torn, relieved to hear from his son that's been gone for so long, but worried when hearing of the battles and the long journey, not to mention all of those people his son so vaguely mentions. And then there's the servant Mervin or whatever (why, he never seems to be able to remember the boy's name properly!), he truly shouldn't slack off; it's not a _vacation_ he and Arthur are on!

()()()

The reply of the letter reaches them half-way to Camelot on the dragon's back. Kilgarrah is forced to land so the owl can reach them (when the dragon still was in the air the bird was too scared of the giant lizard to approach). Arthur unrolls the parchment.

Merlin peers over his shoulder curiously. "Oh! What does it say?"

"' _Dear son, I hope this letter reaches you well',"_ Arthur reads. _"'You make me most proud. This quest sounds of uttermost importance. Make sure it is done well and also give me contact with these Kings and Queens you mentioned. GIVE ME MORE ALLIES, I need them. Also are you certain no magic is involved? If there is, make sure it is no more. Magic has already corrupted too much around Camelot. I certainly do not like it. No no no._

_Gaius also wishes to rely a message to your manservant: he says "Be careful with your GIFT" though what gift that could be, other than some mental disorder or perhaps extreme clumsiness, I do not know. And also that "the leech tanks_ _**must** _ _be cleaned, no exceptions."_

_A feast will be held at your return. Do not forget the allies, though. I NEED THEM._

_~Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot.'"_

The Prince twists and turns the letter but there's nothing else, so he rolls it up and puts it in his pocket. "Lucky I mentioned to Théoden and Aragorn about a Camelot entourage visiting sometime in the future. Father should be pleased about that," he says with a satisfied grin.

Merlin, however, pouts. "Why do I always have to clean the leech tank?"


	40. Epilogue

  
**Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)  
** (Actually now it's **According to King Arthur **to be quite honest)

  
**EPILOGUE:  
** (or **The List** or even **The Beginning of the War of Lists** )

Sometime in November, Camelot goes through a number of drastic changes. There's one or two battles and painstaking betrayal and Merlin tries to be a hero again (and succeeds even if there's credit lacking and he's still being called an idiot) and Arthur at some point gains donkey ears, again (and this time it  _wasn't_  Merlin fault, honest!).

A lot of other things happens in-between as well, like the event with the obviously aggravating impostor Uncle Agravaine who appeared out of nowhere after many long years' absence - even if it takes awhile for Merlin to convince the rest of Camelot that the man  _isn't_  to be trusted and that riding off into the woods all alone at odd hours isn't normal behaviour.

Morgana sort of liked him though, because of his mysterious nature and dark, creepy eyes, but she's going through a period where she's redecorated her room to look like some candle-filled shadowy hut or cave with rabbit-feet, old books and weird stinking herbs on every available space and a giant pot with some yellow, sinister-looking stuff. There might be magic involved too but no one sees that, except Merlin, until it's too late, when a visiting voodoo-man notices that she's as light a duck i.e. made of wood and floats on water, and thus decidedly a witch, and then Camelot's gossiping mill goes wild and  _everyone_  knows.

King Uther is, naturally, less than pleased.

So Morgana decides to rebel and leave altogether and there's her blonde half-sister of hers appearing as well, having a part of it all. Merlin thinks they might,  _might_  have something to do with that tear in the veil two months ago (which was quickly remedied of course thanks to Arthur being such a sefless prathead who never listens to Merlin's advice and just throws himself headlong into danger).

Arthur isn't that happy either, he kind of liked Morgana even if she had her moments of wierdness - Merlin assures him that they'll make her see sense in awhile, she just needs to vent her anger; it's best if they simply leave her be.

At the end, King Uther can take the craziness no more, and decides to retire for good and moves to a nice little summer castle somewhere in Northumbria and Arthur becomes king, finally, with a ridiculously huge crown that keeps slipping past his eyes. The crowning is followed by a grand feast and some sparkly fireworks in gold and red and blue that lights up the skies.

Immediately, he makes to change some of Camelot's famous laws, like that one about magic - everyone's happy about that, including Morgana who decides to come back, even if the Evil Uncle by then is long gone (after that incident in the caves near Ealdor, caves which suddenly seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere, he appears to have gone missing. Everytime that moment is mentioned Merlin looks entierly innocent, but Arthur still keeps glancing at him suspiciously). Soon enough the ban is lifted all-together.

Well ... n _early_  everyone is happy abou the rapid changes. Geoffrey, the librarian, not so much.

And even if Merlin is rejoicing that the main part of his destiny is dealt with and that the dragon no longer is nagging at him about that (but now had started nagging about marriages, and more coins, and hatchlings, all of which Merlin can't really understand what he's talking about) and that the magic ban is gone (albeit he wonders when Arthur'll come to his senses and promote him to Court Warlock or something. Because he  _definitely_  deserves a promotion) – there are  _some_  sides of these events that Merlin is less pleased with, when he hears of them.

()()()

"See to that these are distributed among the knights, guards and courtiers," the newly crowned King says a regular Monday morning to one of his most trusted knights. "And set up a few copies in the mostly used hallways and by the gates as well when you're at it."

"Yes, sire," sir Leon respond and looks down at the parchment in his hand, scanning the page. His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline as he reads. "Sire – are you certain it's ... ah, _appropriate?"_

Arthur gives him a sideways but stern look, as if the man had just suggested something awfully foul and the man quickly takes back his words. Obviously it's not the right thing to ask. The knight rolls up the parchment and makes sure the prince can see how he holds it like a very important fragile treasure, and bows his neck.

"… I'll see to it right away, sire."

"Very good."

The King starts humming a victory tune as he walks out of the hall.

()()()

Merlin is trying to carry a large laundry basket through a thin corridor full of other busy servants when he runs into Gwen. Or she runs into him, more like, causing them both to stumble and the basket topples over.

"Oh, I'm so, so terribly sorry!" Gwen cries, kneeling beside him to hurriedly collect the spilled items. "I was in such a hurry and didn't see you, I'm sorry. Here - I'll help."

"Hi, Gwen," Merlin says with a smile. "It's all right, don't worry."

"Let me help you carry these," the girl says to make up to the blunder. "Nothing seems to have caught any dirt. These are for Arthur, I guess?"

The servant boy nods as he grabs one end of the basket, Gwen the other, and they stand. It's considerably easier to carry it between the two of them, and people give them a wide berth. "I thought you were in a hurry," Merlin says, glancing at her.

The girl looks a little flustered. "Oh, well, lady Morgana will understand, I'll explain to her. Especially when taking the List into consideration."

"The ... List?"

Gwen glances at him, her mouth making an 'O' motion. "You don't know? It's being put all over the citadel as we speak; I passed by one in the kitchens."

"No, I haven't seen any lists ..." Merlin frowns, looking around. Come think of it now, people have been acting strange (again). Doing that eyebrow thing at him a lot. And Sara the Cook hasn't chased him around with a rolling pin trying to break his fingers, yelling at him to stop stumbling about and break the china, a single time today. "What kind of list?"

"Perhaps it is best if you find out yourself..."

"Why?"

"Yes," Gwen nods and speaks just a bit too quickly, "it's better if you just asked King Arthur."

()()()

Merlin takes her advice into consideration. Half an hour later, he appears at the King's doorstep with eyes wide and jaw dropped. "Arthur - why are these all over the castle?" he asks, incredulous, and hold up a piece of parchment. It's obvious the text on it has been revised quite a few times: things have been erased then put there again, and there are little notes in the margin, and the 'Prince Arthur' bit has been over-lined and had big bold red letters saying KING ARTHUR put above them, evidence that the text is several months old and has been edited over time. But it is very readable, and Merlin did a double take when first seeing the List.

The King looks up from his desk.

"Ah, Merlin. Good, you're back. I started to wonder what was taking you. My floors needs a good scrub, just flick your wrist or something, then you can -"

"Arthur," Merlin cuts in, waving the parchment for extra measure. "Why have you put up lists with stupid  _rules_  concerning  _me_?"

"Oh you know, I need some help looking after you," Arthur says in a completely neutral tone, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Clearly, you need it: you stumble on air and will one day probably fall down a stair or go on a stupid mission to save my life, which is unacceptable because I need you to be safe and sound for the safety of this Kingdom and Albion as a whole. And half of it for my own sanity –"

"But, this is ridiculous! I can't see the harm in letting cute animals into Camelot! Or using a bit of magic now and then! Or talking to dragons! Or anything else on this list!"

"Really," says Arthur and raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. I mean, no! I – all right, yes, there might be some stuff on it that's … logical. But a lot of it isn't! There's no need to remind everyone of all of those awkward moments like with the dresses and stuff, and either way, that's not the  _point!"_

"Please inform me of this point then, _Mer_ lin."

"The point is, I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can. But sometime you could use a pair of extra eyes on you, to make sure that you don't do anything stupid. You're so incredibly selfless and  _reckless, Mer_ lin."

"Am not! Stop saying my name like that, it's creepy when you're making that expression!"

"What, this?" Arthur tries his best imitation of Gaius (or maybe it's Uther, Merlin isn't sure, it doesn't matter: they're both equally fearsome.)

"Yes, that! Stop doing it!" the servant cries, making wild gestures with his hands. "And now you're avoiding the topic.  _This_  topic," he emphasizes, holding up one of the copies of the infamous List. "I want you to put these down and destroy them, burn them, or I will!" His eyes glow golden warningly.

"I had someone place a magic shield on them. I won't tell you  _who_  thought," explains Arthur when Merlin furiously starts spluttering, absolutely nothing happening to the parchment no matter how many spells the warlock throws at it.

"Did the dragon do it? Or one of the druids? Or Morgana?" Merlin growls and Arthur just smirks. "It was the dragon, wasn't it!"

He  _knew_  it was going to sidle with Arthur one day!

The smug smirk appears to be plastered permanently to Arthur's face. "It's fire-proof, water-proof, Dragonlord-proof … whatever; you name it. I am the  _only_  person ever who's able to make changes, ever, during whatever circumstance. This List has been made to  _last_. But you can try all you like. Oh! Wait. I've got one last thing to add."

The King reaches up and grabs it, ignoring the servant's widening eyes. "What now?" Merlin gasps horrified.

He dips the quill in the inkpot and places the tip against the parchment, carefully choosing his words as he writes and deliberately bending the remaining parchment so that Merlin won't see yet what he's writing, and Merlin makes a slightly pained, distressed noise at that, insane with curiousity. "What is it? Arthur, tell me you prat!"

With a pleased grin at his creation, Arthur calmly puts back the quill and waits for a moment for the ink to dry, smirking knowing that the magic in the parchment immediately will spread the word to all other copies. Then he rolls the parchment up again and hands it over to Merlin.

"There. You can go and put it back wherever you took it from," he orders and stands, putting on his favourite red jacket, the one with the studs which Merlin so patiently and carefully had polished this very morning (all right, Merlin admits that he used magic and it took about two and a half seconds).

Still with that grin on his face Arthur exits his chambers, his manservant scowling after him. The young King like to have a word with sir Bors about the arrangements of the upcoming tournament now on the meeting, which is to start in just a few minutes; and you can't be late to those, especially if you're King. Hopefully that round table he ordered last week from the royal carpenter has arrived …

" _Arthur_!" Merlin cries after the prat's back. "Come back, you dollophead! We've not finished this discussion!"

Arthur doesn't, of course, the stubborn prat he is, albeit the servant thinks he can hear the echo of laughter further down the corridor.

()()()

Reluctantly, Merlin goes back to the great hall, to one of the pillars on which the note had been stuck and the puts it back on the peg, glaring at the thing murderously. During the walk back here, he's tried practically any spell he knows on it: using fire, water, storm winds, tried breaking it apart, tried sending it to another dimension or through time, tried editing the text through telepathy – anything, everything.

And nothing worked. He tried destroying it without magic, tearing it apart (it sew itself back together) and throwing it away through the nearest window (somehow it just landed in his hands again) and stubbornly trying to burn it over a non-magic torch (it refused to be set on fire).

So, he has no choice but to put it back - for now. When doing so, Merlin lets his eyes sweep down over the parchment, reaching the last few lines, which Arthur so recently had added. And they state thusly:

**#40. He Mustn't Protest To the Reasonable and Very Logical Rules That Arthur Has Made Up To Protect His Reckless Backside.** **Most** **All Arguments Are Invalid (unless they involve a bed and no clothes and seriously Merlin don't you see that I'm only doing what's best for you? So stop whining now and quit calling me a dollophead. I am NOT a dollophead.)**

**Signed, His Glorious Highness Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, Most Awesome Pendragon Ever, Best Fighter in Albion, etc etc. during the 1st Year of His Reign.**

_Yes, he's a stubborn prat!_  thinks Merlin as he glares at the paper,  _but he'll see! Once I figure out what kind of spell that's been put on that piece of paper, I'll break it or better yet, make up an own list! A list of rules about Arthur and -_

"Ahem, ahem," sounds behind him and Merlin twists his head, to see a dozen or so of the councilors and knights having a meeting sitting by a round table 8which appears to have grown over the last few months and there are now some thirty chairs around it, and it still has room for elbows). Gwaine is happily chewing on an apple and waves in greeting. Arthur is sitting next to Leon, the first looking smug, the second tentative.

"Once you've finished glaring at that defenseless piece of paper, why don't you sit and join us," says the King and pulls out the empty chair on his right. "We were just about to start discussing something very important that I think you want to hear."

"Really," says Merlin, not really believing him. And not that willing to either, considering the List. As soon as he can, he's going to turn Arthur into a donkey (just temporarily - otherwise Albion would go haywire - but then Arthur would get his point. Hopefully).

"Yes. Now come, sit. Don't be shy."

Merlin scowls at him, and crosses his arms once he's seated.

"All right. I'm sitting. What is it now?"

"I'm suggesting a promotion."

This makes him straighten up immediately.  _A promotion?_  At last! He'll finally be able to let someone else clean the prat's dirty socks and muck out those damned stables, and instead do fun and interesting things, like-

"Which is to make Morris Chief of Staff." The council nods approvingly and a note is signed. "And sir Lancelot to my Second in Command." More approving nods and murmurs.

Merlin has no clue who this Morris guy even  _is_. Disappointed, he sinks back in his chair.

"And of course I'll need someone to oversee the drastic changes as of late, now the magic ban is lifted. Someone with a head on their shoulders," the King continues and someone snickers behind their hand. Merlin's frown deepens and he's nearly pouting now.

It doesn't sound like it's going to be him,  _no_ , it's probably going to be some old druid from far off who's less clumsy and more reliable and things like that which Arthur values. Of course it's not silly little Merlin, who can't walk in a straight line without tripping on air.

"They need to be skilled at what they do and not just do fancy tricks. And of course, they need to be  _loyal and trustworthy_."

Or maybe it's Gaius. Gaius is kind of good at magic and he's been at the court forever and Arthur trusts him. It might even be the bloody dragon for all he knows, Arthur's snuck out of the castle some nights and had these hour-long conversations with it for some reason Merlin cannot comprehend. Kilgarrah has surely been a bad influence, with the coins and destiny and everything and, lastly, the List.

"So what'd you say Merlin?"

For a moment there's silence. Then:

"You giant  **prat!"**  the warlock cries, nearly falling off his chair, arms flailing. Red in the face and breath puffing, he gets to his feet and faces Arthur making wild gestures. "You had me thinking you meant Gaius or someone else, not  _me_ , you – you – you complete  _cabbage-head_! You're such a pain in the backside! I've been waiting for  _weeks_  for that and there's been no sign, I thought you were perfectly happy making me a servant forever while someone else got the glory and everything!"

"Really, Merlin, I'm starting to think promoting you to Court Sorcerer is a bad idea," Arthur says and everyone in the council are smirking now at the bickering pair (they're all expecting a further promotion of the now Court Sorcerer sometime in the future, and have already begun to make plans, the King only needs to okay it). "You'll probably make a mess of yourself anyhow. God knows I'll need to keep a close eye on you."

"I can do my job just fine!" Merlin protests. "Don't you  _dare_  taking that promotion away from me!"

"So you remember the last rule, then?" Arthur asks amusedly.

"As if you'd let me forget it!"

"Very good, Merlin. Everything is already planned, you'll officially receive your promotion during the feast tonight. And you'll get your very own tower where you can sit and do magic-y stuff that Court Sorcerers do, and equipment and stuff - yes, Merlin,  _including_  space for all the stupid owls. Not to mention the great influence you'll get on the court."

Merlin's eyes lights up he's a child in a candy store. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Then, struck with a thought, Arthur raises a warning finger. "But no magical creatures running loose! The guards are already finding it difficult with the dragons dropping by as they see fit, not to mention those ridiculous unicorns last week."

"... The unicorns weren't harmful and I didn't call for them! They just appeared on their own! That had  _nothing_  to do with me!"

(He has plans of raising a baby wyvern though, they're just so  _cute_  and they'd surely be great help guarding the city ... plus he's already caring for Aithusa and - well,  _surely_  there must be a way to convince Arthur! If anything else fails he can always use the pout-and-look-cute tactic.)

The King of Camelot just sends him a  _look,_  and Gwaine smirks, and the rest of the council is awkwardly quiet after the warlock's outburst. It's as if they know something he doesn't, and Merlin would question that if he wasn't so annoyed at Arthur and now caught in a staring contest with him.

()()()

True to his word, as soon as he's out of this chamber Merlin grabs the nearest quill and starts writing his own List concerning His PratlinessArthur Pendragon. And the first line of _Things That Arthur Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Merlin)_  is **#1:**   **Don't make those stupid lists and spread them around! No matter what you think you are still a Royal Dollophead and I can still magic donkey ears onto your stupid head, Sire.**

**Signed, Merlin son of Hunith, mostly known as Emrys, Greatest Warlock of All Time and Court Warlock of Camelot.**

Using his magic it's not hard at all to spread word across the whole of Camelot and beyond, and he walks around town afterwards with head held high and smug. It's fully legit. (Upon seeing the counter-list, Gwen can't for some reason stop giggling.) If the castle staff's gossiping is refueled, he's too wrapped in annoyance at Arthur to notice.

()()()

The reply is stuck to his door the following morning:

**#41. He Mustn't Make Lists Like These - Making His Own List Only Makes Him Look Completely Ridiculous. From Now On, as Camelot's Court Warlock, He Shall Always Wear a Pointy Hat, as Decreed by His King Arthur Pendragon.**

()()()

And this is why it became highest fashion from that point on among all magic folks to wear long robes and pointy hats. Preferably with long white beard to them, albeit Merlin shall always protest that the rather famous Beard was not  _his_  idea, but Arthur's, since it's utterly ridiculous and Arthur is a prat.


End file.
